


Heart of a Dog

by Yeetmeaway



Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Crack Treated Seriously, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Innuendo, Light Angst, Matt Fraction-inspired Clint Barton, Minor existentialism, Out of Character, POV Multiple, Past Abusive Relationships (referenced), Shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetmeaway/pseuds/Yeetmeaway
Summary: The god of mischief and the god of thunder are bored. Three thousand or so years will do that to an Aesir. When Loki's favourite subject, the human condition, comes up, the two gods make a wager to prove which of them is right: Loki, who believes humanity is nothing more than a curse that leads to despair, or Thor, who believes there must be some reason he's stuck around Earth for so long.Steve, the willing participant, agrees to Loki's conditions though he isn't really prepared for everything that entails.Natasha, however, has agreed to NOTHING. There's enough going on in her life without two gods meddling in her affairs!
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Loki & Steve Rogers, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Thor, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 91
Kudos: 109





	1. The Wager

In a skeevy dive bar in New York City, Thor was nursing a bottle of beer. He didn’t look up when someone patted him on the shoulder and took a seat next to him, but he knew it was Loki from the moment he entered the bar. It had to have been at least a hundred years since he last saw him, though he never kept track of that sort of thing. Last he knew, Loki was in Asgard after declaring himself bored of humanity. 

“Brother,” Loki said, voice pleasant, though Thor knew him well enough to detect the undercurrent of irritation in his tone, likely from being in the presence of so many humans.

Thor smiled briefly and sipped his beer. This was always something he could count on, Loki finding him one way or another to stir up mischief. Though Midgard was his domain, he wasn’t fond of the changes over the past centuries. There were no more raids, no longships and explorers. His time had passed, the people had moved on, and he was no more than a faded relic of a forgotten time. He glanced around the room at the wide grins and smiling faces. Once, people like this had revered him as a god. Though it comforted him, in a way, to know that he could destroy all these people, or a city block if he so chose. Truthfully, it was boring being a god in modern times. The prospect of Loki’s mischief appealed to him now in a way it never had before. Thor had to admit he was glad to see him, he was growing weary of these Midgardian faces. 

Thor nodded at the trickster god and swirled his beer thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to the commotion on the tiny TV screen behind the bar. On it, the count down to the new year had begun, and the ball began its ritualistic drop in Times Square. Already the throngs of drunken revelers were beginning the New Years' tradition of a deeply embarrassing drunken kiss on live TV. Thor figured the couple who appeared the most intoxicated and had the most witnesses to the kiss was declared the winner of the New Year. Beside him, Loki snorted derisively, clearly disgusted with the barbaric customs of humanity. 

“So ends another trip around the sun on this miserable rock,” he said. “Really, brother, I don’t know how you stand it.” He raked his eyes around the room, taking in the drunken revelers dancing and kissing sloppily. 

“They’re not so bad,” Thor said. Midgard was his to look after, after all. He had remained long after the other Aesir had left. Maybe it was nostalgia that kept him here. Or fondness. He couldn’t be bothered to think which. Part of him regarded humanity with affection like one would a pet. 

“They’re no better than beasts,” Loki declared. “No more civilized than anything else in their realm. Their inflated self-importance disgusts me. Imagine thinking your affairs are more important than any other creatures’?” He pointed to the sharply dressed businessman sticking his tongue down the throat of a woman far too young for him. His wedding band glinted in the garish neon lighting strung up to make the room more festive. “Take him, for example. That man thinks himself a god in his own right. A company man, cheating, living, dying in the blink of an eye. Is he any more important than, say, a honeybee, or an ant?”

“They have redeeming qualities,” Thor said. “Their languages are quite something. And their art, music, philosophy…” 

Loki waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, but what can they do that others cannot? Objectively, they aren’t special. Their lives aren’t special, nor are their accomplishments. Human reasoning ties them up in knots of crippling self-doubt, makes them chase after meaning where there is none, makes them want to believe they are meant for more, for greatness, when they are only meant to become fertilizer. What is humanity, truly, but a miserable bunch of biped animals?”

Thor struggled to come up with a strong defense. “You don’t understand them,” he protested. They had their moments, surely. 

“Don’t I?” Loki hissed, his bright green eyes flashing. “I could bestow humanity on any creature and the result would be the same— misery, suffering, longing for something that cannot ever be attained. What is it to truly be human, I wonder, if not an inclination toward inflated self-importance, hopelessness, and destruction? They cannot help their nature.” 

The thunder god looked up from his half-drunk ale, produced by the brewer known as “Budweiser”. He noted the twisted look on the Mischief god’s face and scratched his cheek before running a hand through his neatly trimmed beard. “Is that a wager?” he asked innocently. 

Loki narrowed his eyes, uncertain of his brother's proposition. “Thor,” he said. "Don't cross me, you will lose." 

Thor shrugged. He didn't really care either way. Sadly, this was the most excited he had been in a long time. "Show me you are right— bestow humanity on any creature, and if at the end of next year it begs to be released from its misery, then you win." 

Loki’s answering grin frightened the bartender, who paled and shied away from asking Thor if he’d like another beer to resume wiping the bartop with renewed fervor. "The stakes?" he asked. 

Thor gave him a lopsided grin. "How does two hundred years of servitude sound?" he asked.

* * *

Choosing a victim was simply a matter of circumstance for Loki. Life was often a series of circumstances humans had no control over and he was delighted to add a little chaos into the mix. As such, it was chance that led him to the animal shelter a few blocks from the dive bar. Any of these creatures would do for his little game. He strolled in, meeting the pleasant smile of the receptionist— Steve, his nametag declared— with a predatory smile of his own. The man’s smile faltered ever so slightly. 

Before Loki could speak, the door jingled cheerily behind him, and a young woman who clearly hungover, rushed in, leading her dog up to the counter. 

“Hi Steve,” she said breathlessly. “I uh… I’m sorry I’m late. I was… busy, you know?” The receptionist gave her a bland, uninterested smile and she quickly elaborated. “I’m here to get this guy chipped.” Her tone made it sound like that was somehow supposed to be a joke, but nobody laughed. An old man sitting in the reception area blew his nose. The woman turned her attention to her dog with a smile. His tail wagged slightly and she pet his head. 

Steve the receptionist wordlessly turned his attention to the computer. “What’s your name again?” he asked. 

The woman laughed awkwardly. “Natasha,” she said. Steve typed in her name and then flicked his gaze back to her expectantly. Loki grinned, barely suppressing a laugh at her expense. Natasha cleared her throat. “Romanoff? I’ve volunteered here before… I work at the coffee shop next door?” 

She kept glancing at him shyly, her pallid face colouring a faint pink. 

“Oh,” was all Steve the receptionist offered. “Like… R-O-M—” 

She spelled the rest of her last name for him, obviously wishing she was somewhere else. Her dog licked her palm, clearly sensing her embarrassment and she absently stroked the back of his neck. Eventually, Steve the receptionist found her name. “Yeah, so your appointment is tomorrow.” 

An awkward little laugh was all Natasha Romanoff could muster. Loki’s lips curled into a smile. How delightfully amusing it was to watch these dull creatures interact. “Then… I guess… I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said. 

Steve the receptionist nodded blandly, already turning his attention away from her to stare at Loki. “Can I help you?” he asked. 

Loki didn’t look at him when he responded, instead he watched the young woman as she left, taking her dog with her.

* * *

  
  


Natasha was dreaming. She was in the coffee shop where she worked, tinny Top 40 hits drifting faintly from the speakers. All the chairs and tables had been pushed aside and faceless patrons watched as she danced for them. Steve from the pet shelter was there, dark brown eyes twinkling in delight. Clint and Bobbi were there, her dog Steve (whom the vets named after Steve the receptionist) was there. Feeling bold, Natasha threw a wink at the pet shelter receptionist. He smiled blandly, an empty coffee cup in his hand. 

“Can I get a refill?” He asked as she whirled past. Ah yes, his favourite line to say to her. 

Natasha leaped, her movements graceful, leonine. The faceless crowd clapped. Yelena had been trying to convince her to ask out Steve the receptionist for months as she volunteered at the shelter. She adopted Steve the dog instead. He was easier to talk to. Well, that, and she couldn’t help but adore him. He was a golden mutt, with one blue eye, one hazel, and the sweetest disposition. He didn’t deserve to be there, so she took him home (bonus that she spoke approximately five words to Steve the receptionist while she signed the adoption papers). Owning a dog was expensive. She barely made rent for three months (going on four), but in that time she had gotten him his shots (after her paycheque arrived), had him chipped (just yesterday, with the cheapest discount package she could afford), and was working the rest out as she went. 

Natasha twirled, and the door to the coffee shop jingled cheerily as a stranger entered. Steve the dog got up and started barking, his hackles raised and Natasha spun her way behind the counter to greet the customer. 

  
  


“Ms. Romanoff.” The voice curled around her, smooth and pleasant. Goosebumps rose on her skin in some defensive response that she could not explain. When she turned, a man with hair the colour of ravens’ wings was smiling back at her. His eyes were strikingly green, his smile bordered on predatory. 

“Yes?” 

He moved, lithe and graceful, seeming to disappear and reappear behind her. When she turned, she met the green eyes of a woman with the same hawkish nose and predatory smile on her face. “Do you know who I am?” she asked, her voice magnetic. 

Natasha blinked. “Should I?” 

The woman laughed, an edge of cruelty in her voice. “I suppose I haven’t been around for a while.” The woman turned and Natasha felt compelled to follow. When he glanced over his shoulder, he was the same man again. “I’m in the mood for mischief,” he said. “I’ve got something to prove to a relation of mine. In fact, I’ve made a wager.” 

Something in his look made her bristle, like he meant to involve her in his affairs. “Oh…” she said. “No thank you.” 

The woman’s smile spread until she was grinning ear to ear. “My dear, it’s only partly got to do with you,” she said. 

Natasha frowned. Behind the strange man, the crowd had dispersed. Clint and Bobbi were gone, Steve the receptionist was gone, and Steve the dog too. Instead, another man was in his place, someone she had never seen before. He was golden-haired, tall, and handsome with a smile that lit up the room. Natasha’s lips parted, her brow furrowed in confusion. Something told her that she knew him. She could see him speaking her name, but Natasha was drawn back to the dark-haired man, his green eyes too bright, too wide. Fear lanced through her. This suddenly felt too real. She wanted to move, but she was frozen, her words were caught in her throat as the man leaned in close, his eyes the only thing she could see. His laughter chased her from sleep and she started awake, her heart pounding in her chest. 

She searched under her blankets, her feet finding Steve’s comforting weight at the end of her bed. He was curled up, still sleeping and she sighed in relief and rolled over. 

* * *

  
  


Natasha woke to the familiar sensation of Steve’s eager tongue on her nose, then her cheek. She smiled and groaned, moving to push him away. “Stop,” she chuckled. “Steve—” 

Her brain fumbled for meaning as her hand landed on the smooth lean muscle of a man’s chest. Her eyes flew open to find a stranger in place of her dog. He was almost nose to nose with her and paused when she did, a surprised expression on his face. He sat back with a frown. Natasha blinked. 

Once. 

Twice.

He was completely naked. 

She screamed and kicked him square in the face. The man yelped and fell to the floor and she flung the covers off and scrambled out of bed, running to the door. 

“Steve!” She cried, calling for her dog. Behind her, she heard a muffled whine and her heart stopped. Her dog was still in the room. She whirled to see naked guy sitting with his head cocked as though he waited for her to say something else. There was something familiar about him… her brain placed him as the kind-looking stranger from her dream. Examining him closer, she took in his soft, golden hair and mismatched eyes. He had one blue, one hazel, just like her dog, Steve. 

Her stomach dropped and she swallowed hard. The dream came back to her— the strange man (sometimes woman) smiling like he was greatly amused. It gave her pause and she let out a shaky breath. She was being stupid. Her legs quaked, her heart raced, but the question was out of her mouth before she could think. “Steve?”

Sheepishly, he wiped his nose on his shoulder. “Yes?” 

Natasha’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor across from him. 

No. 

No way. 

Numbly, Natasha crawled over to her night table and grabbed her phone. To call the police, she told herself. There was no way any of this was real. Without thinking, she tapped on the pet tracker app and waited for the cheery loading screen to disappear. With shaking fingers she entered her pin and selected the serial number of the microchip implanted in her dog. _Searching…_ The app proclaimed. Natasha fixated on the three little paw prints that made up the ellipsis. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the man come a little closer. 

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked softly. 

Natasha didn’t know how to answer him. She stared, taking in his handsome face. His full lips were nearly set in a pout. He seemed timid, like he was genuinely afraid he had upset her. Her phone buzzed in her hand and she whipped to look at it. The tracker was listed at her apartment, the little icon nearly on top of her phone’s location.

_Bow wow! Less than one foot away,_ the app helpfully declared. Natasha sprang to her feet, startling the man as she marched up to him and laid her hand on his back. There, between his shoulder blades, was a hard little bump about the size of a grain of rice. 

_Less than one foot away,_ the app still declared. _Leave a review!_ She dropped her phone and sank down beside him, her fingers still tracing the microchip in his back. He was becoming increasingly agitated, shifting nervously as she watched him. “Steve,” she said. He blinked, squirming a little. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha okay let me explain this one. 
> 
> The title is from Mikhail Bulgakov's story, Heart of a Dog (similar concept, a dog is turned into a man, except it's about the Bolsheviks and is definitely not a romcom). The concept is from Fifteen Dogs by Andre Alexis (one of my favourite books about 2 gods giving human sentience to 15 dogs, also not a romcom) and also from a 2017(?) movie that actually IS a romcom called Unleashed (about a woman's dog and cat turning into people to help with her failing love live. Truthfully, I hated this movie and couldn't finish it lol). 
> 
> This is mostly going to veer into absurdity. I used to write stories like this all the time where the main goal was to make myself laugh, so that's what this is. I figure 2020 could use some levity, so I hope you find this as amusing as I do lol.


	2. Novels and Normalcy

This was the longest day of Natasha’s life and it was only 8:30 in the morning. 

She had called in sick to work to try and make sense of all of this. Currently, she was oscillating between panic and total existential bewilderment as she sat on her couch, wedged between tacky throw pillows that had words like “breathe” and “peace” on them. She stared blankly at the novel she had been reading, a steaming cup of coffee in her free hand. She had gotten to the bottom of the page, realized she hadn’t read a single word, and began her fifth attempt to read her book in an attempt to exert some semblance of normalcy over this extremely strange morning. Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe when Steve came out of her bedroom, he would be a dog again and she could laugh at how absurd this whole thing had been and resume her life as normal. 

As it stood, she had managed to scrounge up some Steve-sized clothes her ex-boyfriend had very generously donated when she kicked him out for cheating. She threw them in the room where Steve waited very (nakedly) patiently for her to stop screaming into her throw pillow in the living room and come back. Then she gave him extremely brief instructions on the finer points of pants wearing, before she expelled herself from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

When she realized she had been staring at nothing, she blinked. Was this her life now? Natasha watched her cup of coffee briefly, her eyes tracing the steam curling and disappearing into the air. She couldn’t just leave him… As strange as this was for her, it was likely even  _ more _ strange for him. She chewed her lip. She could barely support herself, how was she supposed to help him? 

That was assuming this wasn’t a dream. Which, clearly it was. 

Clearly. 

Natasha resumed reading. When she reached the bottom of the page, she sighed and began her sixth attempt to read her book. When she heard footsteps approach, Natasha glanced up and choked on her coffee, coughing and spilling the hot beverage on her lap. 

“Steve,” she sputtered between coughs, “put your clothes on!”

  
  


He huffed a little (nakedly) defensively, not understanding her reaction as he came up alongside her. Natasha pointedly returned her gaze to her book, reading the last word on the page.  _ Rats,  _ it read. 

“I don’t like how they smell,” he protested. His voice was pleasant, deep. “They smell like the man you used to bring around here.”

Steve plopped down next to her on the couch and Natasha buried her nose into her book, absolutely mortified. Her ex was a smoker, Steve had never liked him. He had better taste than she did, obviously. “I’ll get you new clothes,” she said into her book, “but you can’t just go around naked until then.” 

Steve frowned, his head tilted to the side. “You never made me wear clothes before.” 

“Well, I’m making you now.” When he didn’t move, she finally took her nose from the book to face him. He stared at her, his brow creased a little. “Go!” She snapped. 

Steve sniffed in frustration and got up to get dressed. Natasha resumed staring blankly at the words on the page, her face flushed so hot, she was surprised she didn’t just burst into flame. She might as well, the way her day was going. She turned her gaze to the ceiling, wondering if the green-eyed trickster might somehow hear her thoughts and grant her wish. 

Instead, her phone buzzed and she quickly checked it to see the reminder she had set for a vet appointment next week. 

She was supposed to have Steve neutered. 

Natasha tossed her phone away, buried her face into a throw pillow, and screamed. 

* * *

  
  


“An amusing diversion!” Thor declared upon seeing Loki’s handiwork that night in his favourite dive bar. In Loki’s enchantment, he could see Steve. He was handsome, Thor noted. He had kind eyes. The thunder god smiled and eyed his brother. “Though I am surprised you chose a dog as your subject.” 

Loki grinned before taking a drink of his gin and tonic and frowning. Clearly, this establishment wasn’t renowned for its cocktails. Or anything, for that matter. Why Thor chose to spend his time here was beyond him. “I had to give you some chance of winning,” he said. “A dog is as good a beast as any— smarter and kinder than most humans even.” 

“Aye, hence my surprise.” Thor smiled briefly before he turned his attention back to Loki’s enchantment which allowed the gods to see what transpired with the newly humanized Steve. “He seems a good candidate— liable to be happy, that is.” 

Loki scoffed. “He was happy as he  _ was _ . He used to have a one-track mind, uncomplicated thoughts and simple amusements. All his hardships were easily forgiven and forgotten. He stands to lose whatever happiness he knew and more as a man. Given time, he will be as unhappy as the woman he lives with, assuming she doesn’t throw him out.”

Thor smiled and leaned over the bar top. “She won’t.” 

The trickster god narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Thor’s surety. His trust in humanity was disconcerting, to say the least. Especially since the thunder god didn’t even seem to know why he himself was so set on defending these creatures. It spoke of something that Loki wasn’t familiar with— faith. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow a smol update! This is likely how this work will go, weirdly inconsistent, shorter updates. I want to do little vignettes with a throughline plot connecting them (yes this has a plot outline lol). 
> 
> Follow me on Twitter for updates, artwork, and more! (@YeetaNo)


	3. Crisis

Steve didn’t like that he had no tail. 

He had spent the afternoon looking for it, trying to peer over his shoulder to see behind him. Mostly he ended up spinning in circles until he fell over and gave up. 

Natasha had told him she had to work today. He still didn’t really understand the point of that, but if it was important to her, then it was important to him. It just meant that she was gone and he was alone. Steve sighed and paced from the bedroom to the kitchen for what was surely the hundredth time, still musing about the loss of his tail. When he was happy, nothing happened. Sometimes his face did the thing— his teeth showed and his eyes crinkled, but there was no wagging. Instead, he wiggled. 

He tried it now, imagining wagging a phantom tail. His hips and shoulders did a little shimmy that was somewhat familiar. It was close enough, he supposed. It was just one of the many strange things about him now. The nice stranger had said each day his senses would change to become more human. It was gradual so his mind didn’t buckle under the weight of having everything he had once known shatter apart. 

Steve thought that sounded fair. He just wanted the chance to understand Natasha a little more. He adored Natasha. She was his person and meant everything to him. Was it wrong that he wanted the chance to tell her that? When he agreed to the stranger’s experiment, he was certain he could handle being human. After all, Natasha was, and she seemed fine. He watched the door for a moment, thinking that perhaps she would return and he wouldn’t be alone anymore. When the door didn’t open, he sighed and folded his hands in his lap as he plopped onto the couch. 

So far, it wasn’t that bad being human. Everything still looked the same as it used to, though his nose didn’t quite work like it did before. His leg bounced impatiently and he stared at the door again to make sure he hadn’t missed Natasha’s return. He hadn’t. The door was still closed and she was still not there. 

Steve whined and stared at the ceiling instead. The physical nature of being a human was easy enough to get used to, but there were questions now. His mind was absolutely full of them and it never seemed to shut off. Was Natasha like this too? He frowned and experimentally curled and uncurled his fingers one by one. A sudden thought invaded his mind— what was he now? Steve exhaled at the notion, trying not to let it bother him. 

He was still Steve, surely. He still remembered his life—a collection of moments, favourite smells and places and things, his affection for the sock monkey sprawled on the living room floor by the coffee table. He knew the things that upset him, like the horrible machine Natasha brought out of the closet to suck up all the fur he had shed. He shivered and turned his attention to the sock monkey instead, staring at the chewed toy with a strange sense of numbness. Steve got off the couch to pick it up and inspect it. Why had he ever liked this? He gave it a squeeze and held it close to his nose only to find he didn’t recognize his own scent anymore. 

If he was still Steve, why didn’t he smell the same? Or feel the same about his toys as he had yesterday? Had so much changed already that he wasn’t Steve anymore? Or was he in a state of continual change, where every moment that passed brought him further and further away from who he used to be?

Unease prickled down his spine at the thought. Who was he if he wasn’t Steve? His unease quickly turned into full-on panic and he dropped the sock monkey in horror. It hit the floor with a plushy thud, its squeaky core letting out an elongated high-pitched whine. He set about trying to prove that he was still himself. First, he went over to his favourite spot on the floor and plopped down onto his blanket. He used to enjoy rolling on it, so that’s what he did. Steve flopped onto his back, put the corner of the blanket in his mouth, and wriggled for everything he was worth. But it was to no avail. The blanket felt odd on his tongue and he had no sense of joy rolling around on it. 

Panicked, Steve got up and ran back into the kitchen and threw open cupboard doors in search of his treats. He had seen Natasha get them out before, but he had fingers and thumbs now, so he could get them himself. Once he located the familiar bag, he tore it open in a frenzy, sending little bone-shaped treats scattering onto the floor. Steve whined and hurriedly grabbed one to eat. As soon as he put it in his mouth, his nose curled in disgust. No… he liked these. He knew he liked these. He spat the first one out and grabbed as many as he could from the floor and crammed them into his mouth, furiously chewing until he reached the conclusion that none of them were good. 

Steve stopped chewing to stare at the broken treats on the floor. Is that why Natasha never ate these? He became indignant, outrage building within him as he couldn’t recall a single time that he had seen her eat one of his treats. Part of him had assumed that she gave them only to him because they were for him and she had her own that she kept for herself. But now he suspected it was because these weren’t good, they were _never_ good, and he just didn’t know any better. 

The bitterness of the cookies in his mouth was the taste of utter betrayal. 

He heard the keys in the door and whipped to look at Natasha as she entered. Filled with ire, Steve marched to the door, half-eaten dog treat in hand, and was about to speak when Natasha looked at him and suddenly he couldn’t think of what he wanted to say. He was filled with so many conflicting emotions that he didn’t know how to process them all. He was so relieved to see her that he started to wiggle, his eyes stinging and blurring with tears, his mouth full of foul-tasting, dry, half-chewed treats.

She stared at him, eyes wide with amazement. “Steve,” she said softly, “Are you alright?” 

“Why did you feed me these!?” he accused, shaking a treat at her, crumbs flying from his mouth. Water was leaking from his eyes now and he didn’t know what was happening anymore. Panicked, he tried to wipe the water away, but it kept coming. Was he dying? His heart hammered hard, his skin crawled, and his face burned with heat. He was definitely dying. Steve howled morosely and Natasha dropped her things and took his arms as he cried. “Am I dying?” he asked her. 

Natasha chuckled and reached up to wipe his tears. Her hands were cool on his skin. “No,” she said. “You’re just upset.” 

Is that what he was? Deep within him, his fear and anxiety gave way to grief, but he was at a loss for why he felt this way. Everything was so complicated, so much harder than he thought it would be. Steve swallowed his mouthful of bitter treats and sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Suddenly her arms were around him and she was pulling him close. Her hands threaded into his hair, gently smoothing the back of his head like she used to. Steve flagged and buried his forehead against her shoulder, wiggling a little. At least he was still Steve in this regard. He still loved her smell, and he still loved to have his head scratched. 

“Sorry,” he said. It was all he could think to say. He had made a mess of things and yelled at her as soon as she came home. He was supposed to greet her. He wanted to greet her. That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? To tell her how much he cared? “Sorry,” he repeated, just in case the first one wasn’t enough. 

Natasha squeezed him a little tighter, her fingers running through his hair and he sighed blissfully. “It’s okay,” she said. 

His face did the thing and he wiggled a little harder. He was filled with sheer, irrepressible joy and Steve’s hands came up to hold her as he leaned in and licked her face. Natasha froze, her eyes wide and unblinking, her cheeks blazing with heat. Steve cocked his head. She’d never done that before. He licked her again just in case and Natasha made the strangest noise he’d ever heard. He had caught a bird mid-flight once. Maybe it sounded a bit like that. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo another update! 
> 
> This is one of those few fics where I actually include Steve's perspective lol. What a mess. 
> 
> Follow me on Twitter for updates! (@YeetaNo)


	4. Zoomies

By the end of the week, Natasha had come to accept that she wasn’t having some kind of psychotic break or extended fever dream. It was strange how easily she and Steve had fallen into a routine. She set him up on the couch— it was too weird for her to have him sleep in her bed now— and evenings were almost normal. After dinner, she practiced dancing, read, or watched TV while Steve kept her company. He never really said that much, just seemed to want to spend time with her. But the domestic normalcy of it all was almost  _ too _ weird. Natasha still wasn’t ruling out the possibility that she was in a coma somewhere, and this was all just some sort of head trauma related delusion. 

But she was quickly running out of reasons to dismiss the notion that 1) Steve was now a person, and 2) he was becoming increasingly self-aware to the point that she was getting a little bit freaked out. 

As the week had progressed, she would return home from work to find him upset about something new each day. His grievances varied from missing his tail and complaining that human noses were next to useless, to asking alarmingly deep questions about the nature of his existence, her existence, and why any of it mattered. Most of the time, she didn’t really have answers for him. He seemed fine when she was at home with him, but when she was at work, he went into an existential tailspin and by the time she came home she’d find him aggressively trying to enjoy dog things. 

As much as she wanted to help him, she couldn’t afford to take time off work— her job at the coffee shop was just to tide her over until audition season began and she made it big as a dancer. She’d had bit parts and side gigs here and there, but this was her year. She had to believe that.

Natasha glanced at Steve, who was presently curled up on the other end of the couch with a jar of peanut butter. When she came home today, shirt stained with coffee, hair a mess, and utterly exhausted, she had found him in the bathroom examining his reflection. For a moment she watched him try to outmaneuver himself in the mirror. He leaned in, then retreated. He darted side to side, then bared his teeth as if trying to threaten the man in the mirror before he leaned forward again. His breath fogged the glass as he stared deeply into the eyes reflecting back at him. A low whine came from him as he slowly touched his face with trembling fingers, watching as his reflection did the same. Mesmerised, he hesitantly pressed his palm to the glass, a strange expression on his face. 

When he had finally caught sight of her watching him, he yelped in surprise and leaped back, knocking her straightener and makeup off the counter. This prompted him to launch into about three thousand questions about where she had been, what the mirror was, what  _ he _ was, and why she needed all this stuff until Natasha took him by the arm and guided him from the bathroom to sit on the couch. She then gave him a jar of peanut butter to calm him down. 

Natasha massaged her face tiredly, listening to him eat the peanut butter. This would be easier if he could come to work with her so she could keep an eye on him instead of letting him freak out alone all day. She sighed and stretched out on the couch, tapping her fingers on the cheap pleather while she thought. In the eyes of the law, he technically didn’t exist. He had no proof of citizenship, no last name, no birthdate beyond the records they kept at the vet. 

For a moment she imagined trying to use his vet records as proof of who he was and frowned. She’d feel better about bringing him places once she got him new clothes and maybe some ID. That might help her feel better about all of this, too. 

Exasperated, Natasha blew the flyaway hairs from her forehead. There was only one person she knew who could help her obtain fake documents, no questions asked. 

She picked up her phone and tapped Clint’s name.

_ I need a favour,  _ she typed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Clint answered immediately.  _ No.  _

Natasha frowned. So, maybe not  _ no _ questions asked. 🥺, she replied. 

_ No!  _ Clint responded. 

_ Clint please, I really need your help.  _

There was the pause. The text balloon appeared on her screen, flashing the ellipses as Clint formulated his response. It disappeared, then reappeared. 

_ 🙄 what do you need?  _ He finally replied.

Natasha smiled.  _ ID. Birth certificates, DL, passport. _

Clint’s reply was almost immediate.  _ You in trouble?  _

_ No, it’s for—  _ she frowned and paused, her thumbs hovering over the keys. What was Steve to her now? How was she going to explain his sudden appearance? Natasha glanced up at Steve who was sitting cross-legged, staring blankly into the middle distance. Absently he reached his finger into the peanut butter jar, scooped a dollop, and licked it from his finger. Steve’s brow furrowed thoughtfully, his tongue flicking out of his mouth as he contended with the peanut butter. For a moment, his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth before it resumed darting in and out, in and out, in and out. Natasha watched in mesmerized silence before finishing her message. 

_ A friend.  _

_ 👌🏻,  _ Clint replied.  _ Text me a picture of him and I’ll get you your documents.  _

Natasha blew her hair from her forehead and flicked her gaze back to Steve. He finally noticed her, his tongue poking out of his mouth, finger paused in the jar. 

* * *

“Sit still!” Natasha cried as she took Steve’s chin and made him face forward. 

“I am!” He protested as he squirmed in his seat. 

It had to have been at least twenty minutes of trying to take his picture in front of the plain white walls of her kitchen. To say they were both over this was an understatement. Natasha quickly snapped a picture, hoping that burst mode captured something resembling an ID photo. But in every shot, Steve was looking away, his chin tilted up, eyes closed in various stages of blinking. She made a frustrated sound, preparing to snap another when Steve stood and walked off. 

“We’re not done!” she cried. “Sit down!”

Steve whined. “I don’t want to.” 

“Steve!” 

When she reached for him, he took off, bolting past her and into the living room. Natasha raged and chased after him, but it was clear that that was a mistake. He bounded over the couch in one impressive leap, a little laugh bursting from him. Steve seemed amazed at what his new body could do and it occurred to Natasha, too late, that he hadn’t really been out since this whole thing began. She could see in him the beginnings of the zoomies. “Steve—” she warned, coming a little closer, but he grinned and took off, vaulting back over the couch and down the hall with a gleeful peal of laughter. 

Natasha chased him, her hand nearly snagging his shirt before he split suddenly into the bedroom. Skidding to a stop, Natasha dashed into the room after him, diving to try and tackle him onto the bed. Narrowly missing, she face planted and got a mouthful of bedding for her troubles. Steve laughed, the sound verging on delighted hysteria. He tore out of the room and she huffed and scrambled to chase after him when she heard a loud crash from the living room. 

Her apartment was much too small for this. It barely qualified as a one-bedroom layout. She returned to the living room to find a horror show. The coffee table was knocked over, the couch was askew, and her poor house plants lay scattered on the floor as Steve rolled to his feet and barreled around the room. Natasha narrowed her eyes and moved to block him before he could tear past her back into the bedroom. She knew it was a mistake when she suddenly realized he was bearing down on her like a freight train. Steve’s eyes widened as he realized, too late, that he couldn’t stop. 

She curled, bracing for impact when he caught her in a huge bear hug instead, easily scooping her up and running down the hall with her in his arms. Natasha yelped and clung to his shoulders, meeting his wide eyes with a panicked expression. Steve’s disbelief quickly turned to wonder as he laughed and spun her around. 

“You’re so small,” he said, delighted. “Small and light.” 

Before she could say anything, Steve lost his footing mid-spin and they crashed to the floor, Natasha landing on top of him. She lay there for a minute, her head spinning as she listened to his racing heart and felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath. There was a pause where she let everything that just happened sink in before a laugh bubbled out of her. It was slow at first, a horrible, snort-laugh that kept coming and coming. Steve looked up at her curiously for a moment before he began laughing too. Soon they were both in hysterics, howling with laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation they were in. His body shook, the sound of his laughter reverberated through her and Natasha could barely breathe. 

She laughed until her sides ached and her face hurt and tears blurred her eyes. Taking a moment to collect herself, Natasha sat up, straddling Steve as he looked up at her. In the momentary silence, she raised her phone, focused her camera, and snapped a picture of him. 

He was looking straight at her this time, a gentle smile on his face. Accepting this was likely the only picture she was going to get out of him, she sighed and sent it to Clint. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are just flying out! Clint enters the picture! We shall hear more about him soon!


	5. Thunder Buddies

Natasha didn’t hear back from Clint for a while. She was fine with that, she supposed. She had her hands full anyway with work and making sure Steve wasn’t losing his mind. She wasn’t sure how well that was going on that particular front.

Steve had told her his sense of taste was changing and kept eating things to see if he liked them, regardless of whether or not those things were actually edible. This past week she had come home each day to find him eating something new. Monday was her poor houseplants, Tuesday, an unpeeled banana, Wednesday was coffee grounds. He was practically on the ceiling after that. Thursday was wet dog food, which made him pretty sick, and finally, today was Doritos, of all things. At least he liked those. 

Natasha sighed and picked at the lo mein noodles she had picked up on the way home from work. Steve had practically inhaled his and was now sprawled out on the couch, loudly napping while holding her throw pillow close like a teddy bear. Her paycheck was coming soon and Natasha was intensely occupied with budgeting out the next two weeks. Steve needed new clothes. She only had three shirts for him to wear, one pair of sweats, and one pair of shorts and she couldn’t keep sink washing his clothes every two days. On top of that, rent and utilities were due, she was low on groceries, and they were burning through food twice as fast now that Steve was about three times the size he had been previously. 

Suddenly anxious, Natasha checked her phone briefly. She needed to dedicate more time to dance practice if she didn’t want to make a fool of herself during auditions like she did last time. No one had paid her any mind and she’d been rejected after the first round. The memory irritated her and she silently got up to change into her leotard and began stretches in her room. Once she was limber, she returned to the living room and began pushing her furniture aside to give her room to dance. Steve slept through it, even when she pushed the couch back with him still on it. She rolled her eyes and wished she could sleep half as soundly as he did. 

She danced, practicing her basics. She needed to be in better shape than she was if she wanted to make a better impression. Nobody would take her seriously if she didn’t start performing at a higher level. Natasha twirled, practicing her pirouettes before transitioning into a leap. Her roots were in ballet, and that’s where she went when she wanted to practice. She paused to stretch for a moment and was about to practice the set again when she turned and nearly jumped out of her skin to find Steve watching her from the couch. 

“What are you doing?” He asked with a yawn. He’d seen her dance plenty of times, but this was the first time he’d asked her about it. 

Natasha paused, taking in his wide eyes and shy smile. “Dancing,” she said. 

He hugged the throw pillow a bit closer, nestling down onto the couch. “Will you do it again?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with delight. 

Natasha gave him a sheepish smile of her own and nodded. It’d been a long time since she’d performed in front of an audience. She reset and began her routine again. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the old windows of her apartment. She imagined applause instead. 

* * *

That night, the wind turned to rain and then became a full-on storm. It was near midnight and Natasha stared at the ceiling watching lightning illuminate her room. Thunder boomed after and in the silence between, rain lashed the windows in noisy, violent sheets. She sighed and rolled over, burying her head under her pillow with an irritated groan when the next crack of thunder rattled her apartment. Tomorrow was supposed to be her day off and therefore her only chance to actually get things done for once. Instead, she’d be sleeping in, she suspected. Natasha sighed deeply and did her best to block out the storm. She barely heard the soft whimper from her hallway and lifted her head to see Steve peeking around the corner of her door frame, shifting from foot to foot. He was wearing one of her pet shelter volunteer fundraising shirts— they only had XXXL left by the time she got her free shirt. _Adopt, Don’t Shop_ was proudly emblazoned across the chest in garish lime-green letters. 

Natasha sighed, rolled over, and pressed her palms to her eyes. “What is it, Steve?” She asked.

He was silent for a moment and she peeked at him from under her hand to find him gripping the doorframe tightly, his eyes downcast. “I know you told me to sleep out there,” he said. “But…” As another boom of thunder rumbled through the apartment, Steve ducked his head and shivered, gripping the door frame a little tighter. 

_Oh_. 

Natasha sat up and scratched her head. “Uh… I guess… You could sleep in here?”

Steve considered her for a moment, still clutching the doorframe. For a moment, she was certain he would say no, but he timidly entered and climbed onto her bed. Her brain struggled to comprehend what was happening. She supposed part of her was anticipating setting him up on the floor, but as her mattress dipped under his weight her heart leapt and she suddenly felt nervous, underdressed in her tank top and sleep shorts. This was a bad idea. She drew her covers up higher, unsure of what to tell him when he suddenly curled up at the foot of her bed with his back to her. She let out a funny little sound, something between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. Steve glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression curious. He looked ridiculous in his usual spot on her bed, his body too large to comfortably fit on her double bed.

She moved to cover him with an extra blanket. “You’re going to freeze,” she told him. He pouted and Natasha knew it was because he had no fur now. He’d been over that point a lot this week. She tucked the blanket securely around him and he stared up at her with wide eyes. “Goodnight, Steve,” she said. 

He wiggled a little and she lay back down and rolled over, listening to the sound of the rain with her feet pressed against Steve’s back beneath her covers. She was just starting to drift off when lightning flashed and thunder boomed. She frowned and huffed, wishing this storm would just be over already. But she wasn’t the only one who felt that way, it seemed. Steve cowered, shaking so hard the bed trembled along with him. Natasha flipped onto her back. No sleep for her tonight. Natasha nudged him with her foot and she could feel him turn to peek at her. “Come here,” she said. 

Sheepishly, Steve moved to lie with her. He lay his head down on her pillow, facing her while Natasha squirmed to make room for him. She nestled into her pillow, staring deeply into his mismatched eyes. For a moment they just stared at each other, not saying anything. This was so weird. The room lit up white again and Steve cowered, curling against her as if he wanted to hide in the safety of her shoulder. Natasha sighed and hesitantly wrapped her arm around him. “It’s just thunder,” she told him. 

She could feel him blink and his long lashes tickled her collarbone. “Thunder?” He asked softly. 

Natasha nodded, her thumb stroking little circles on his back whenever he trembled. “When the light flashes— lightning, it’s the sound that follows after.”

Steve rolled over to face the window, slipping from under her arm to watch the storm through the thin curtains of her bedroom. He was quiet for a while, introspective. In the beat of silence, Natasha closed her eyes and let herself relax. Having him here wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He was solid and warm, his body radiating heat as he lay beside her. Natasha curled her arms close to her chest, her forehead nearly resting against Steve’s back. She could feel herself nodding off when Steve spoke again. 

“What causes that?” he asked as he watched the storm.

Natasha hummed and rubbed her nose. Her eyes opened a crack to look at him as he turned onto his back to face her. His eyes were wide, filled with curiosity. She sighed and wracked her brain for all the grade school earth science she hadn’t thought of in years. She told him everything she remembered— positive and negative charge, fronts and weather systems, atmospheric pressure. He was a patient listener, only stopping her to ask a question every now and then. She told him everything she could think of, even branching into other subjects to answer his questions. She knew it was late when she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. His next words barely registered.

“Natasha?” He asked.

Natasha made a sleepy little noise and vaguely felt him shift next to her. She knew he had asked her something else, but she was too far gone to hear it. Outside, the storm had moved on— the rain became a gentle rhythm on her window, the thunder a distant rumble. Steve was like a space heater next to her and it was becoming impossible to stay awake. Unconsciously, Natasha nuzzled against him and she felt the comforting weight of his arm curl around her. 

It felt so nice to be needed like this. Carefully, Steve settled next to her and she fell into a dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere Thor is bowling. 
> 
> I'm excited to post the next part soon!


	6. Intruder!

A soft tap outside Natasha’s window drew her from sleep. It was still dark out and she stirred, unwilling to leave the warmth of her bed. Steve’s arm lay heavy across her body, his nose buried in her hair. He sighed in his sleep and his breath was like a warm invitation back into rest. Natasha drifted back to sleep, her forehead pressed against his. 

The noise came again and Steve perked up, moving to sit. Natasha gave a sleepy moan of protest and reached for him. Before she could tell him to lie back down, Steve suddenly sprang out of bed to go to the window, yelling incoherently. Startled by the racket, Natasha panicked, got twisted in the sheets, and fell out of bed in a graceless face-plant onto the floor. 

Her heart hammered in her chest, her brain struggling to keep up over Steve’s screaming. “Oh for—“ she kicked her leg free, scrambled over to him, and wrapped her arm around his waist to drag him from the window. This used to be so much easier when he wasn’t over six feet tall and made of solid muscle. He was still shouting and she framed his face, turning him to look at her. “Enough,” she said.

Steve frowned. “Someone is here,” he said. 

Natasha glanced at the window to see Clint sitting outside on the fire escape, his mouth frozen in an ‘o’. She turned back to Steve and gave him a withering smile and patted his cheek. “I see that now, thank you,” she said. 

Steve wiggled, his expression proud. She turned and unlatched the window and Clint came stumbling in. She could smell the liquor on him and he crawled onto the floor in a sad display of staggeringly uncoordinated movement before pushing himself to stand like an Olympic medalist at the podium. How he made it up the fire escape was beyond her. His brother must be in town— only Barney Barton could get him so drunk. He only ever came to her place like this when he couldn’t make it back home safely. 

“Sorry, Nat. Didn’ realize you had company,” he said blithely as he squinted at Steve. “‘M Clint,” he said, offering his hand. 

Steve looked at Natasha questioningly, his eyes wide. “Clint’s a friend,” she assured him. His suspicion melted into a genial, understanding smile. Natasha paused— there was something so infectious about him when he was happy. Her lips curled into a little half-smile of her own and Steve beamed before he turned back to Clint, leaned in, and licked his face. Natasha watched, her smile frozen in place as her soul withered and left her body. Clint’s eyebrows here practically in his hairline, a prolonged vowel sound coming from his open mouth as he stood with his hand extended into the empty air. Steve kindly moved to lick the other cheek. All at once, her soul returned and Natasha pounced and nearly tackled Steve into the wall. He yelped in surprise as she shoved him hard behind her. “Sorry about him,” she said, blindly planting her hand on Steve’s face and pushing him toward the door as she fumbled to explain his behaviour. “He’s…” 

Clint swayed on his feet, his eyes barely open. “European,” he finished, nodding sagely as if agreeing with his own wisdom. 

Natasha smiled so wide her cheeks hurt and her eyes swam with tears of abject hysteria. “Yes!” she said far too brightly. Steve thrashed as she pushed him by his face out of the room. “He’s…” He growled and gently nipped at her fingers. “...European.” 

In the hallway, Natasha stopped. Steve stopped, too. They both stood staring at each other, Natasha’s pinky finger in Steve’s mouth, her hand still planted on his face. “No licking,” she said with narrowed eyes. 

Steve looked offended. He opened his mouth to protest and Natasha quickly moved to cover his mouth with her hand. “No—” his eyes narrowed and she felt his tongue press against the palm of her hand. “Licking!” she squeaked, pulling her hand away. She wiped her hand on her shorts and met his indignant gaze. “I mean it,” she said. 

Steve stared at her for a beat before he sighed. “Fine,” he said. “No kisses.” Natasha stopped, her brow furrowed in confusion, and Steve’s irritation slipped to mirror her expression. “What?” he asked. “It’s what you would say before— ‘give us a kiss’, and then I’d—” 

Natasha’s cheeks coloured as she understood his meaning. “I know, but people don’t… do that.” 

His expression fell a little. “They don’t kiss?” 

She withered under his stare, uncomfortable with the direction this was going. She didn’t think she’d have to discuss social niceties yet, especially if she wasn’t taking him out in public. Suddenly uncomfortable, Natasha squirmed and brushed her hair behind her ear. “Um… well…” 

She was spared from having to answer when Clint emerged from her bedroom. “Gonna crash on the couch,” he said as he brushed past them to stumble into her living room. He made it about half way before he went down like a sack of potatoes and sprawled onto the floor. 

This was going to be a long night. 

* * *

The next morning, Clint stood in the kitchen brewing the strongest pot of black coffee Natasha had ever seen. He sniffed, his eyes bleary as he lifted the entire pot, raised it to his lips, and spilled it on his shirt. 

“Aw,” he said sourly, looking down at his newly stained shirt. He cleared his throat and drank again, this time actually getting some in his mouth. Natasha squinted as she watched him, her patience grinding down to nearly nothing. She was much too tired to deal with this. At least Steve was still asleep in her room and she only had to deal with Clint for the moment. She wasn’t sure what she had done to invite such stupid into her life. Had she run afoul of some ancient power? Broken a mirror? Maybe it was just her. Maybe she had her own stupid gravitational pull.

Clint sighed and sipped his coffee, becoming less like a gremlin as he did. Eventually, he consumed enough of the foul brew to speak. “So about your request—“ he said, patting his jacket pocket ineloquently. When he found the correct pocket, he produced a ziplock bag of documents that he handed to Natasha with a sad flourish. “Tada,” he proclaimed tiredly. 

Natasha opened the bag with a tiny smile, looking at Steve’s new driver’s license, passport, and birth certificate. His picture stared back at her. He looked goofy.  _ Steven Grant Rogers  _ the document declared.

“Rogers?” She asked. And ‘Grant’, for that matter. 

“Yeah it’s like one of those names, you know?” When she didn’t respond, he elaborated, “Like a John Smith, type. Incognito, inoffensive, boring.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes and scanned the rest of the document. She frowned deeply. “Clint, this says he’s one hundred and two years old.” 

Clint snatched the document from her hand with a frown. “Naw,” he said. “July 4, 1981—“ he frowned and scratched his chin. “Er… 1918. Shit.” 

“You pegged him as thirty-nine?” 

Clint looked personally offended. “‘81 was a good year Nat. A  _ lucky _ year. Plenty of people were born in ‘81–“

She folded her arms across her chest. “Is that the year you were born?”

He pouted and drank his coffee. “Anyway, shit like that’s expensive and time consuming to make. I can’t make you another one for a while so…” he gestured vaguely, waving his hand in a sad hungover flourish. “Enjoy.” Natasha rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Aw c'mon you love me,” Clint said. 

* * *

Steve awoke to hear voices from the other room. After helping Natasha’s friend onto the couch, they had gone back to her room to sleep some more. Steve stretched and yawned, rolling over in Natasha’s bed. When he opened his eyes, his heart stopped. The world was awash with colour that had previously never existed to him. Natasha’s quilt was a shade he could barely comprehend. He touched it, running his hands over the material to try and make sense of this strange new sensation. 

Steve looked at his hands, the awful colouring of letters on his shirt, the decor in Natasha’s room. He laughed in complete disbelief, taking in everything as quickly as he could before the vibrancy began to overwhelm him. He couldn’t shut it off. 

Frightened, Steve buried his face into his hands and listened to the comforting cadence of Natasha’s voice in the other room. She was talking with her friend in hushed tones. He heard his name come up a few times. 

“Any plans for your day off?” her friend asked, voice gravelly and tired. 

“I’m taking Steve to get some clothes,” she said. 

Steve perked up to hear that. They were going out. They were going out! That had to be the most exciting thing he had heard since he agreed to the stranger’s proposition. The notion of a walk was enough to drag him from his momentary despair and he bounded out of bed and went over to the dresser and grabbed his leash. 

The other man, Clint, she had called him, spoke in a low voice. “Can you afford that, Nat?” 

Steve picked up on his tone. That was something he was noticing now that he never could before. Human language conveyed more than he had thought. Facial expression and tone of voice were like a language of their own, hinting at some secret hidden meaning behind the surface level words. And to make matters more confusing, there were more emotions than just happiness, sadness, anger, and fear, he was discovering. Within words and emotions and gestures were shades in between, a wash of grey that he didn’t know how to interpret. It was as if he had lived his life looking through a keyhole and now the door was opened and he was bombarded by a whole host of experiences he’d never felt before. 

Steve shook himself, willing these awful thoughts to just leave him alone. Why couldn’t he just enjoy himself the way he used to? Why did he have to try and make sense of everything? He stared at the leash in his hands. A walk would fix this. 

He wiggled and left the bedroom, leash proudly in hand. He excitedly turned down the hall, about to ask Natasha when they could go, but when he laid eyes on her, the words died on his lips. It was as if she had stolen his breath away. Natasha’s hair was a bright flash of indescribable colour cascading in soft waves around her shoulders. Her skin looked warm. Her eyes were so vibrant, her lips a soft, gentle colour. She was an array of hues he could only describe as beautiful. He had no vocabulary to think of it otherwise. She was so beautiful. 

At her friend’s words, Natasha sagged, her cheeks flushing a deep colour that made Steve pause. She was upset. Steve found himself going to her side without thinking. 

Without a word, Clint withdrew a crumpled stack of paper from his pants pocket and handed her three pieces. She looked surprised. 

“Clint—“ 

“Just take it,” he said. 

Reluctantly Natasha did, her brow knit with… the word came to him—  _ shame _ . Steve’s lips parted, unease growing within him. Why was she ashamed?

“I’ll pay you back,” she said quietly. “I swear.” Her words were soft, her tone conveying something that was lost on Steve.

Clint smiled and Steve was comforted by the kindness in his eyes. “I know you will,” he said. 

Natasha tucked her hair behind her ear, staring down at the paper in her hands. There was so much going on here that he didn’t understand, but he just wanted her to be okay. He was looking down on her now and she smiled at him. “Morning,” she said, tucking the paper away into her pocket. Steve had nothing to say in response. His tongue wasn’t working anyway. “You want to get some clothes today?” He nodded eagerly and she smiled a little wider. “Just lemme get my purse.” He watched her retreat to her room and wanted to follow when Clint stopped him. 

There was something he understood— anger, territorial behaviour. “You know, Nat’s a good person,” he said dangerously. 

Steve didn’t understand the implication. “Yes,” he agreed. She was his favourite person. 

Clint narrowed his eyes, his expression taut with anger. “You better be worth all the trouble you’re putting her through,” he said. 

Steve cocked his head. Trouble? He frowned, his thoughts threatening to race in all directions again. It was easier not to think, not to let himself wander too far into his own mind. “We’re just going out,” he assured him. For a walk. Finally.

Clint pursed his lips, staring at Steve in a way that made him uncomfortable. “It’s none of my business,” he said, “but if I find out you hurt her, or take advantage of her…” 

Take advantage? He wasn’t sure what that meant. “I'm not trying to dominate her if that’s what you mean,” Steve said. Clint squinted, clearly just as confused as Steve felt. He finally noticed the leash in Steve’s hands and frowned.

“Uh…” he began, as Natasha returned. 

But Steve ignored him, wiggling with excitement as he handed the leash to Natasha. She looked at the leash, then at him with wide eyes. Steve frowned. Did she forget how to use it? “Oh,” he said, thinking aloud, “I need my collar.” 

Before he could go find it, Natasha met Clint’s eyes from over his shoulder, her expression panicked. 

“Oh—” Clint said, a realization dawning on him. 

Natasha turned a shade as bright as her hair. “Clint—”

“My God?”

“Clint—”

“Oh my God!?” 

Steve didn’t quite get what was happening. He looked between the two of them with a deepening frown. 

“It’s not—” Natasha sputtered, her cheeks blazing. 

“Listen,” Clint said hastily, zipping up his jacket and heading for the door. “Whatever you guys are into…”

“It’s not like that!” 

“...Is none of my business,” Clint continued over her as he made his way to the door.

“Clint—”

“Honestly! It’s fine!” He said as he opened the door. “I… didn’t mean to interrupt your…” he gestured vaguely and left, shutting the door behind him. 

Natasha groaned and buried her face into her hands. Steve had no idea what had just happened, but he knew he had done something to make her friend leave. He hung his head, his face flushing with heat. “Natasha?”

She sighed. “Let’s just go,” she said, shrugging on her jacket and hanging his leash back on the hook. 

“But—” 

“Were not going out with you on a leash!” She said, mortified. Steve frowned, about to protest when she took his hand. His brain stopped working and he stared down at her hand clutching his. “You can’t run off,” she warned.  His hand was so big compared to hers. Slowly he curled his fingers to hold her. That was never an option before— holding her. “Steve?” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion. 

Even her voice was different today. The way she said his name was so nuanced, complex. Each syllable was poetry, striking some instinct deep within him that made him shiver. Steve swallowed hard, unwilling to explore any of this further. He wished he could just go back to how things were, that Natasha would sound the same, that he wouldn’t feel so foolish and the world would just make sense again. But awareness told him that it was him— he just listened differently, saw things differently. Natasha hadn’t changed, the world hadn’t changed, it was him. He was different. 

She squeezed his hand and he blinked, re-emerging from his own mind. Truly it frightened him what he was capable of thinking and feeling now. It was more than he wanted to bear. “We don’t have to go today,” she said. “Or… I can just get you some things.” 

Steve shook his head. He didn’t want to be left alone. Time alone meant time inside his own head, and he didn’t like where that led him. He held her hand a little tighter. “I want to go with you,” he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter! I think this is one of my favourite parts lol. 
> 
> Last update before Christmas! If you celebrate, Merry Christmas to you!  
> Otherwise, Happy Holidays, Seasons Greetings, and stay happy and healthy out there!


	7. A Good Boy

“Order for Sharon!” Natasha called, reading the name scribbled on the side of the coffee cup. She chanced a glance around the coffee shop, looking for potential Sharons to come and claim the freshly made caramel macchiato her coworker had handed her. When nobody came, she sighed and put the cup on the countertop. In another forty minutes, she could go home. 

She swept the hair from her face and glanced around the room again. Steve was still tucked into the corner nearest the till with noise-canceling headphones on and a 'science for kids' video channel playing on her old laptop. He was insanely curious, and there was no way she could answer all the questions he had for her, this seemed like a good compromise. Steve seemed content to watch, though most days he found it hard to sit and wait for eight to ten hours until the end of her shift. At least he seemed happier here than when she left him at home. Natasha watched him frown as he stared at her old computer screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. The coffee shop gossip speculated that he was a screenwriter, or maybe an actor or a model. She nearly laughed aloud when she overheard that.

Steve leaned forward and rested his cheek on his hand, watching the screen intently. He looked good in the leather jacket and hoodie he had chosen from the thrift store during their shopping excursion. He had insisted on picking out his own clothes and Natasha was surprised by his choices. He had a casual, approachable sense of fashion that ranged from middle-class student to hot farmer’s market vendor. She wished he wasn’t so naturally handsome and friendly. Ever since she brought him with her to work, she couldn’t help but notice the constant swirl of chatter and leering stares of the coffee shop patrons as they circled Steve like he was prey. She wondered who might be the first to ask him out.

That notion also made her nearly laugh aloud. 

“Is my order ready?” a blonde woman approached the counter and Natasha snapped her attention back to her job, her best customer service smile plastered on her face. 

“Sharon?” she guessed. The woman gave her a friendly smile and a nod. “Your order is on the counter.” 

As she picked up her coffee, the jingle of bells above the door drew Natasha’s attention to the customer entering and she smiled, suddenly breathless. It was Steve— Steve the pet shelter receptionist. He came in with his empty reusable cup and placed it on the counter by the till. How sensible and environmentally conscientious of him. Natasha smiled and met his impassive gaze. “My usual,” he said flatly. 

She gracefully took his cup and rinsed it out, shooting him a side glance to find that he was on his phone. Truly she felt nothing when she looked at him. He wasn’t particularly handsome or personable. She didn’t find herself madly attracted to him, and that was a good thing. After her previous relationship, she knew that it was safer for her to settle into something safe. Falling in love had burned her before, and she wasn’t about to do it again. She loved too hard, gave up too much of herself to please others. Steve the receptionist seemed like a sure thing, like a stable, reasonable man. What she wouldn’t give for some of that in her life. 

“Here you go, Steve,” she said brightly, handing him his straight black coffee. 

“Hey thanks…” he squinted at her nametag, “Natalie.” 

He was funny, always forgetting her name. It was like their thing. They had a thing now. Natasha smiled and slid her gaze over to where _her_ Steve was sitting. She wondered how a relationship might work if he was in the picture. _Steve, this is Steve, my co-dependant, live-in, six-foot-three man who used to be a dog,_ she imagined herself saying. _He likes licking strangers and having his head scratched. Sometimes he gets scared of thunder, or the dark, or the vacuum and will need to sleep in our bed when that happens._

This time, she did laugh out loud and _her_ Steve looked up from her laptop with a wiggle and tiny smile on his face. 

“What’s so funny?” Steve the receptionist asked. 

Natasha turned her attention back to him, her expression still set in a huge grin. “Inside joke,” she said. Feeling emboldened, she asked, “Do you think... sometime you’d like to get coffee with me?” 

Steve the receptionist smiled blandly, his eyes raking up and down her body. “Okay,” he said. 

Pleased, Natasha took down his number and carefully tucked it into her pocket. Steve the receptionist left soon after and she skipped over to the machines to clean them. Finally, it felt like things were falling into place. She’d nail her upcoming auditions, land a dance job, and then call Steve and date the hell out of him. Her favourite song came over the cheap speakers of the coffee shop and she twirled and grabbed her rag and spray bottle to wipe down the countertop. But what about her Steve? 

Natasha paused mid-wipe. She couldn’t leave him, could she? She’d be too busy to look after him and while she signed up to take care of a dog, she wasn’t prepared to take care of an adult man, especially if she wanted a boyfriend and her dream job. Would he understand if she left him? She chewed her lip, her brow furrowed in confusion. Did she want to leave him? 

She glanced up at the table where Steve sat, only to find he was gone. Panicked, she searched the shop and spotted him about to leave with the nice blonde lady who ordered the caramel macchiato, Sharon. 

“Steve!” she cried in alarm. Everyone in the coffee shop turned to stare at her and she amended, “Uh… order for Steve?” She made pointed eye contact with him and he cocked his head slightly. Heat blazed into her cheeks as she felt all eyes on her. “Order!” she jerked her head, trying to beckon him over, “For!' she jerked her head again, "Steve!” He tilted his head the other way and Sharon, bless her, leaned in and said something to him that finally made him skip over to the counter. 

Before he could open his mouth Natasha leaned across the counter and hissed, “Where are you going?” 

Steve mimicked her posture, leaning across the counter to hiss back, “She asked me if I wanted to go out with her, and I asked what she meant, and she said, ‘like we could get dinner or coffee, or go for a walk’ and I got really excited because I love walks, so I said, ‘let's get out of here’ and she said, ‘right now?’ and I said, ‘would you take me right now?’ and she got this funny look on her face and said, ‘that’s awfully forward of you’, and I said, ‘yes, that’s my favourite direction,’ because that’s what you do when you go on a walk, you move forward? and then she laughed and said I was funny and said we could walk to her place where she’d show me what she did with funny guys, and I looked up and you were busy, so I said ‘okay’ and then you started shouting my name and now we’re here.” 

Natasha peeked over Steve’s shoulder to see Sharon idly sipping her caramel macchiato, staring at Steve as he leaned over the counter. Slowly she lowered her cup and licked the foam from her top lip, her eyes hungry. 

She’d eat him alive. 

Natasha quickly met his mismatched eyes. “Steve, you can’t go with her,” she said quietly. He looked disappointed, so she added, “I… don’t think she has the same thing in mind as you do. We can go for a walk after work, I promise.” 

Still leaned across the counter, Steve’s slow smile made her heart skip a beat. He met her eyes with a gentleness, a clear adoration that made her cheeks colour a little. “There’s no one in the world I’d rather go with,” he said. 

He then turned and went back to Sharon to tell her he couldn’t go with her today. She didn’t seem too broken up about it, much to Natasha’s relief. Steve went back to his table and plopped down into the chair. She brought him water in a coffee cup which he accepted with a huge smile. Even if she wasn’t prepared to take care of him, she wasn’t prepared to leave him, either. 

Ignoring that notion, Natasha returned to wiping down the countertop and finishing off the last thirty minutes of her shift. 

* * *

After the walk debacle, Natasha had to think hard about how she could make sure Steve got more exercise so he didn’t leave with random strangers. That could have ended very, very embarrassingly. It took her a day or two to discover a solution. 

She leaped, practicing her dance routines as she usually did in the evening. She had been working for hours while Steve excitedly watched from the couch. Part of her knew she was behind. Auditions meant showcasing everything— including lifts and partner dancing for broadway productions and professional dance troupes. She repositioned and leaped again, willing herself to go higher. Frustrated, she landed and put her hands on her hips. 

The idea suddenly struck her like a bolt from the blue. Recalling the night Steve had had the zoomies, she whirled to look at him, a gleam in her eye. He cocked his head and stared, his expression a little surprised. “Steve,” she said. “Would you like to learn how to dance?” 

* * *

Steve was almost too excited to focus, but Natasha was so serious that he knew he had to pay attention. She made him change into a t-shirt and sweats, explaining he would likely need a shower after. He didn’t mind that so much. He had always liked the water. 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Natasha took his hands and placed them on her waist. Steve swallowed and traced the curve of her with his thumbs. She was always so small in his hands and part of him was afraid he’d break her. But she was made of stronger stuff than that, he could feel that now— she was graceful, flexible power beneath his hands. He noted her breath, the expansion, and contraction of her ribs, the way her voice reverberated through his hands and up to his forearms. His excitement was becoming something else, something deeper that he couldn’t explain.

“Are you listening?” Natasha asked. 

Steve blinked and met her eyes. She had a little crease between her brows when she focused. “Sorry,” he said. 

She smiled and placed her hands on his again and Steve was immediately drawn to look down again. Her fingers were warm and gentle. “When I jump, you lift me straight up, and then guide me back down.” Steve nodded and she demonstrated with a few little jumps, making adjustments by guiding his hands on where to hold her and how hard to grip her. She tried a few more, and when she was satisfied, she tried higher leaps. Steve lifted just like she told him and it was like he was making her fly. He laughed at the sensation, joy bursting through him when she laughed with him. When she offered a correction, he listened carefully and made adjustments each time until, after a leap where it almost seemed like he made her float, Natasha suddenly cried, “Yes! Good, Steve! Exactly like that.”

The praise almost overwhelmed him. Heat immediately rushed into his face and he began to wiggle despite his best efforts not to. He had noticed that about her and other people at her job. Nobody wiggled. Steve desperately forced himself to try and stand still, but Natasha noticed right away and he sheepishly ducked his head. “Sorry,” he said, still wiggling. 

She laughed and he didn’t think it was possible, but his face burned hotter. Steve slipped his hands from her waist to his cheeks to try and stop the sensation. “It’s okay,” Natasha assured him. “You don’t have to be sorry when you’re happy.”

“I know, I just…” he couldn’t come up with the words. He just wanted to be normal? Like her? More human? But he wasn’t any of those things. 

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice cut through his thoughts and he met her gaze. She had a gentle smile on her face that made him wiggle all over again. “I like you just as you are,” she said. 

It was as if everything in him stopped. All he could do was look at her, his heart hammering in his ears. He was fairly certain he’d stopped wiggling and he couldn’t say why, but his eyes stung with tears. In the time since he’d become a human, he’d felt uncomfortable, stupid, out of place, and freakish. Her praise was overwhelming before, but now he didn’t know what he was feeling. He was warm from head to toe, totally awed and humbled by her kindness. Natasha’s smile slipped a little, concern clearly on her face and Steve quickly averted his gaze, feeling guilty that he had made her stop smiling. “We can stop if this is too much,” she said. 

He couldn’t speak, so he shook his head. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to keep dancing with her. When he found his voice again, he said, “No, I want to try again.” 

And he did. He lifted her until his arms burned and his legs ached. He danced and lifted and learned to spin and move and flow until he was so tired that he could barely keep up. But it was the kind of tiredness he wanted, the kind of ache that he craved. At last, he wasn’t a freak, or out of place, or stupid, or uncomfortable. He was just Steve, and he liked himself just the way he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to be an absolute trainwreck for Natasha. Look out for a new chapter this coming week!


	8. Unconditional

Loki waited in the skeevy dive bar, drumming her fingers on the bar top impatiently. She sipped her cosmo and grimaced— the bartender had a tendency to overpour the liquor. Idly, she glanced up and picked a piece of lint from her designer suit with an irritated scowl that sent all her would-be lovers to the farthest corners of the dimly-lit room, suddenly afraid to talk to her. 

Thor was late. 

She couldn’t possibly fathom why. This was his favourite place for whatever reason. She turned her attention back to her enchantment instead, watching Steve and Natasha dance in the flickering green of her magic. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that he was getting good at it. The mutt was full of surprises, it seemed. She took another sip of her drink, watching the two of them twirl and laugh when her concentration was suddenly broken by a huge hand clapping her on the shoulder. She spilled her drink down her chin. 

“Sister,” Thor said, sliding into the seat next to her. 

Loki narrowed her eyes, seething as she dabbed the drink from her face without ruining her lipstick. “You’re late,” she accused. Thor gestured to the bartender who brought him two bottles of beer— the safest choice for this hovel. All they had to do was chill it. A cockroach skittered over Loki’s shoe and she pulled her feet up in disgust. “Why do you insist on meeting here?” 

Thor popped the bottle cap off the first beer and skulled it. He set the empty bottle down, popped the cap off the second, and skulled that too. He then gestured to the bartender, who brought him two more. “This place was really something back in…” he paused to recall the year, “1928.” Loki rolled her eyes. A long time since its heyday, then. “The owner knew what I was,” Thor continued. “He had a store of liquor he made to serve during prohibition. He promised that so long as I continued to patronize the establishment, I would never be out of beer.” He popped the cap off his third beer and sipped it this time. “In exchange I kept the police and the mob from harassing him. He wasn’t the most reputable man, you see.”

Loki stared at him in horror. “You were a bruiser for a bar owner who paid you with homemade beer?” 

Thor shrugged. “He was true to his word. So long as I come here, I’m never without a beer.”

The mischief god scoffed at her brother’s sentiment. “Ugh, let’s just get this over with. I’ve been here for nearly an hour.” She paused to consider that notion. “Where were you, anyway?”

“I was at work.” 

Now that was amusing. “ _You_ have a job?” she asked.

“Of course I have a job,” Thor pouted and skulled his beer before popping the cap of the fourth one in miserable frustration. “I’m not a god to these people anymore. I can’t survive on tribute when nobody gives me tribute.” 

Loki grinned and leaned against the bar top. “Don’t worry, my brother. When I win our bet, you will be my personal attendant for the next two hundred years and since I am merciful, I will see to it that you are taken care of.” 

* * *

  
  


Steve caught Natasha as they practiced their routines. They danced in the mornings now before Natasha had to go to work. In the weeks following his first lesson, she taught him more than lifts. She taught him how to dip her, how to catch her and spin her. 

He had a favourite move now, where she’d fall into his arms and he’d dip her low before bringing her back up and releasing her into a leap. It made him feel so strong. He was strong before, he knew, but his body was changing— becoming stronger, more fluid, and flexible. They’d practice dance for hours some nights, until they were both sweating and panting and smiling ear to ear. He was so happy, so in tune with his body. He wasn’t so clumsy and awkward anymore, he was finally learning how to move and master himself in a way that he’d never experienced.

Natasha fell back into his arms and he dipped her low to the floor, his face close to her neck. He loved to watch her— the way she was so relaxed and graceful, the way she flowed with the music and with him. He’d never felt so close to her, so connected. This was another language that she was teaching to him and slowly he was learning to be in sync with her, to trust her and move with her and understand her rhythm and her body. He’d never felt more powerful and graceful and beautiful than when he danced with her and he couldn’t begin to express what that made him feel with words. Instead, he showed her with every touch, every lift and dip, and spin. 

The song ended and her eyes fluttered open as she smiled up at him, her arms circling around his neck. Steve’s heart raced, his breath mingled with hers as he smiled back. “You’re getting good at this,” she remarked. 

Steve’s smile spread wider as he gracefully brought her back to her feet, light as a feather. “You’re a good teacher.” 

Natasha laughed and his heart skipped a beat. That had been happening more and more recently. It had him a bit worried, but he was afraid to bring it up with her in case she made him stop dancing. He felt fine otherwise, maybe it was just a quirk of being human. 

The next song came on and he released her from his grasp. Natasha swept her fly away hairs from her sweaty forehead. “One more time?” 

He nodded eagerly and assumed his position. Natasha danced her part, gracefully leaping and spinning. When she fell back into his arms this time, he knew she had overshot. He caught her, but his positioning was wrong, and instead of dipping her gracefully, he scrambled to keep her head from striking the floor when they both tumbled over. Steve felt the breath rush from her body in a surprised squeak as he landed on top of her and he quickly shifted to his hands and knees, hovering over her. “Are you okay?” he asked, panicked. 

Natasha stared up at him, wide-eyed before she dissolved into laughter. Her arms were around his neck, fingers threaded in his hair. Her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, her forehead made a tiny crease when she laughed that he loved. He wondered if she knew she was doing it. Steve wanted to laugh, too, but could hardly breathe. Would there ever be a time that he didn’t love to hear her voice? His heart was beating so fast as he watched her. She made him so happy. He was so happy. It was too much to bear— without thinking, Steve leaned in and nuzzled against her neck to lick her jawline. 

It was brief, a gentle nudge of his tongue on her skin. Her skin was salty with her sweat and the taste made him shiver. He quickly pulled away, ashamed. He knew he wasn’t supposed to— she had told him no licking. Natasha stopped laughing. They were nearly nose to nose, her lips parted in surprise, her breath warm against his mouth. He opened his mouth to apologize, but nothing came out. 

She looked at him so strangely. For a moment, they were frozen and Steve didn’t know what to do. He wanted… he wanted to stay like this? To lick her again? Neither of those things seemed right. He wanted something else, something he couldn’t define. It was as though part of him was empty, part of him wanted more and more and more. Of what, he didn’t know. He just wanted, he longed, he ached.

When the song changed, Natasha looked away and drew a little breath. “It’s time for me to go to work,” she said calmly. 

Steve nodded and moved away. 

* * *

  
  


Natasha stood blankly in front of the cash register, replaying how Steve had looked at her over and over. She swallowed hard and made herself grab her rag and spray bottle to wipe down the countertops again. Had she ever been looked at so passionately before? 

She pointedly refused to look at Steve sitting with her laptop in the corner. Sometimes she could feel his eyes on her and she felt colour creep into her cheeks. Auditions were next week and she didn’t need this in her life right now. She was so busy polishing the countertop that she didn’t hear the customer enter until he loudly cleared his throat.

Natasha flinched and threw down her rag, her best customer service smile plastered on her face until she saw it was one of her ex-boyfriend’s friends standing at the counter. 

He smiled genially. “Hey,” he said. “Can I get uh… a flat white?” 

Maybe he didn’t recognize her. Her heart pounded in her ears as she mechanically punched in his order. Silently, she hoped he wouldn’t recognize her. She started preparing his order and he leaned on the counter, a little smile on his face. 

“Here you go,” she said brightly, about to set his drink down in front of him. 

“Weren’t you that girl?” He asked. Her body went cold and she froze. Natasha flushed and shook her head. “You were! You were a dancer at Mockingbird’s.” He leaned in a little closer. “Nice of you to do that private little show for us. We still talk about it. You had a great ass.”

“That wasn’t me,” she said, still holding his drink.

“Aw c’mon. I’d know that face anywhere.” He grinned wolfishly. “You’re wasted as a barista. You should be dancing on tables, not bussing them.”

Natasha threw the coffee at the man, ruining his nice, suede jacket. She tore off her apron and stormed out of the shop. 

  
  


* * *

Steve gathered all of his things, hurriedly moving to go after Natasha. The man she had thrown coffee on was yelling about managers and screaming words Steve had been told not to say because it wasn’t polite. Steve rushed to the door, where the man was brushing foam and coffee from his sleeves. Steve tried to push past him when the man started yelling those awful words about Natasha. Towering above the man, Steve froze and looked at him, his teeth bared into a snarl. The man shrank back, staring at him with wide eyes. Steve growled threateningly, leaning in close before he whirled and ran off after Natasha. 

He didn’t catch her until she was nearly at the apartment and they just walked in silence until they were back home. She was upset. Steve had never seen her like this, not ever. He clutched her old computer tightly to his chest, closing the door behind them as Natasha stalked into the living room. 

“Natasha?” he asked softly. She whirled to look at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears. Steve swallowed and made himself ask, “Who was that man? What did he say to you?” 

She laughed bitterly, her expression broken and Steve feared he had asked the wrong thing. 

“I used to dance,” she said bitterly. “I danced for money. I was a go-go girl at nightclubs. I was good at it, too. It felt like a means to an end, I could practice dance and make money until auditions started. But my ex never liked it. He said I was wasting my time as a go-go dancer, that I’d never make it as a professional dancer.” She smiled, but Steve could see her lip trembling. “He said I’d make more money doing striptease. Not that there’s anything wrong with it… I just… it wasn’t what I wanted to do. I wanted to be on Broadway, or in cirque or ballet, anything…” 

She sighed and Steve set down his things and joined her in the living room. Natasha was quiet for a while before she continued, “When my ex told me he had pulled some strings and lined up an audition, I was so excited. I wanted a chance to prove myself. When we arrived, it was a private show for his friends instead.” 

Steve didn’t quite understand the nuance of what she was telling him, but her expression broke his heart. He didn’t have to understand to know that she was devastated. 

“I was so humiliated,” she said with a little laugh, a tear streaking down her cheek. She quickly dashed it away. “But you know what the worst part was? I did it anyway. I could’ve walked out and dumped him then and there. Nobody was forcing me to stay. But I did it anyway. I took their money.”

Steve stepped closer, his heart hammering in his ears. He was upset, picking up on her emotion, but didn’t know how to help her. Natasha shied away, unable to meet his eye. “I gave up dancing after that,” she said. Steve’s lips parted. She was so good at it. She loved dancing. Natasha smiled bitterly. “I told my ex that I didn’t want to do it anymore, that it bored me and I never liked it. Maybe I was afraid he'd ask me to do it again. Maybe I was afraid that I'd be desperate enough to say yes." She was quiet, ruminating, before she added, "I adopted you shortly after because I thought maybe I needed something else to focus my attention on.” Steve swallowed, watching her helplessly. When he didn't say anything, her eyes narrowed. “Did you hear what I said?” she asked, “I got you on a whim. I got you because I hated myself. I used the money I got from his friends to pay for your adoption, your food, all of it.” 

She was looking at him like she expected something that Steve wasn’t sure he had. Did she want him to be angry? Did she want him to leave?

“Why are you telling me this?” Steve asked softly. 

A laugh burst from her. “Because I hate that I let myself be used like that. I hate that when the cards were down, I gave up. I hate that you know that about me now. I hate that you won't stop looking at me like I mean something. I don't, Steve. I'm nobody. Maybe I'm telling you this because I want you to hate me, too.”

She was wrong about herself. Steve knew that with absolute certainty. She was wrong. He could never think less of her for doing what she did, no matter how much she seemed to want him to. If she thought he’d want to leave, she was wrong. “Natasha,” he said gently, “you know I love you.” 

Natasha froze, her eyes wide in shock. “What?"

Steve smiled. Finally, he could say what he had been meaning to say for a long time. “I love you, Natasha.” 

Tears spilled down her cheeks and she trembled. “You can’t just say that,” she said. 

Steve cocked his head. “Why not?” 

She sputtered, looking for a reason. “Because you can’t! You don’t mean it!” 

Undeterred, Steve reached out and swiped her tears away. She stared up at him with wide eyes. “You’re important to me and I care about you. I don’t care what you did, or why you took me home. I love you. You’re my person and nothing could ever change that.” 

She watched him for a second before she clarified, “You’re not _in_ love with me?” 

He wasn’t totally sure what the distinction was, so he shook his head. “No.” Natasha seemed relieved and he smiled, wiggling a little, glad to see that she was calming down. “But I do love you,” he said, just in case she was still confused. 

“Why?” she whispered. 

He sniffed, offended that she would even ask. “You’re the best person I know. The kindest, funniest, most talented… Why can't you see that? You're somebody, Natasha." He fumbled for the words, frustrated that he didn't seem to have the right ones. "You're... well you're you. How could I not love you? You’re everything to me." He had so much more to add, but words didn't seem to cover what he was feeling. "Everything,” he repeated. 

Steve was surprised when Natasha burst into tears. She threw her arms around him and held him tightly, her face buried in his chest. “Thank you, Steve,” she said. 

Hesitantly, he turned his nose into her hair and breathed her in as he wrapped his arms around her small, shaking frame. He just wanted her to be okay. He wanted her to know how much he cared. But he couldn’t help but feel strange again— his heart raced, his body flushed with warmth. When she was in his arms, he was tempted to think about it— the distinction between ‘love’ and ‘in love’, but the notion frightened him. It felt like he teetered on the edge of a precipice. Love was a big, awful notion that might push him over and into the unknown, and that scared him. It was too much, too complicated, too _human._

Steve didn’t answer her, he just nodded and held her closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this was a more serious chapter (there's going to be a few of those sprinkled throughout).
> 
> In case it's unclear, Loki is gender fluid and changes appearances to express gender preference. Look for a new update soon! 
> 
> Happy New Year! Good riddance 2020!


	9. In Vino Veritas

Thor sighed, his cheek resting on his palm as he watched Steve and Natasha in Loki’s enchantment. He was about ten beers, two gin and tonics, and three cosmos deep into watching their subjects and it was clear he was drunk.

“He loves her,” he said wistfully. He was about to add something else but he turned his head away and wiped his eyes instead. Loki rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that Thor was a weepy, sentimental drunk. 

“He also loves chasing cars and digging through the garbage,” Loki reminded him. “It’s not hard to declare one's love for something.” 

Thor sniffed and turned his attention to his glass, lifting it to search the bottom for the last dregs of his drink. “You're a cynic.” 

“I’m a realist. Love only complicates this matter. Do you really think that woman would love him in return? And even if she did, there’s no guarantee he’d be happy— in fact, I think it would only make him more miserable when she inevitably rejects him.” 

His brother scoffed and slammed his glass down on the counter. “You’re so sure you’ve won. Do you not think that there’s a possibility that she loves him too? That they could be happy?” 

Loki drummed his fingers on the counter. The thought had occurred to him, but the mischief god knew love. It rarely ever fixed anything. “Happiness is a matter of chance, Thor, and their odds aren’t good. Their relationship is vastly uneven. That mutt is as innocent as a child, a perpetual screw up who’s done nothing but humiliate her and she has emotional baggage and insecurities to ruin any relationship. How long do you think it would last? How long until she resents having to care for him? Or, failing that, how long until he resents having to learn how to hold down a job, pay bills, and become responsible for a whole host of things he’d never even had to consider before?”

Thor pouted and traced his fingers around the rim of his glass, clearly pondering ordering another round. “You don’t know people like I do,” he said. “You don’t know love.” 

That pricked Loki’s vanity. “Of course I understand love,” he sneered. He’d stolen it, turned it against people, used it for his own gain. It was a weak emotion, and perhaps, in his opinion, humanity’s greatest flaw. “It fades, it’s easily broken, it’s fickle and weak.” Thor glared at him and he added. “You should understand that well, Thor. Humanity loved you once but look at you now— wasting away in some hovel, forgotten. You may love humanity still, but they’ve abandoned you.” 

The hurt on his brother’s face made Loki regret his words for a moment. Thor’s lips parted as though he might speak, but there was nothing to say. Instead, he turned away, fingers drumming thoughtfully on the bar top before he slipped from his seat. 

Loki made an irritated little sound. He didn't want him to leave. “Oh, don’t be such a snivelling child.” 

But Thor just shrugged on his jacket and left, and Loki was alone again with his drink and the tab. 

* * *

  
  


In the darkness of her room, Natasha stirred awake to blink up at the ceiling. After storming out of her job, she had cried her heart out while Steve held her. By her estimate, it was late evening now— he had guided her to her room after her tears had finally run dry. She must’ve fallen asleep. 

She rolled over to find Steve asleep next to her. He was still wearing his jacket and shoes, which he kept off the mattress. His hair had fallen across his forehead, his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. His lashes were long and dark, his lips soft and parted and pink. Without really thinking, she reached out to smooth his hair from his forehead, her hand gently tracing over his cheek. He shifted in his sleep and she accidentally brushed his full lower lip with her thumb. It was soft, warm. Part of her shivered to remember how he had looked at her yesterday morning. He had licked her, but it felt different. His eyes were deep, full of reverence, gratitude. It was different to feel his strong hands on her body, the rush of his breath on her neck as he leaned in, the hot flick of his tongue on her skin… 

Natasha flushed, her hand still frozen on Steve’s cheek. What on earth was she doing?! She quickly snapped her hand back as if he’d burned her. She wasn’t attracted to him! There was no way she was attracted to him! She rolled out of bed and ran to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” she told her reflection. “Completely and utterly ridiculous.” 

_He loves you_ , her stupid brain supplied. Natasha wrenched on the tap and splashed herself again to banish those thoughts. She whirled and buried her face into the towel. “No, he doesn’t. Not like that,” she muttered, scrubbing furiously. She refused to fall for this again. Not again. She wouldn’t throw herself at the first man who said some flattering words and told her he loved her. She wasn’t going down that road again. 

_Steve is different,_ her brain protested. “Ugh!” Natasha scoffed and threw her hair into a bun. Steve was different because Steve was a _dog_. Steve loved her for the same reason— because he was a dog. He wasn’t in love with her, he idolized her. Natasha sighed and stared at her reflection again. This was the last thing she needed.

Auditions were at the end of the week. This was her chance to finally get her life on track. 

“Stay focused,” she hissed, pointing accusingly at her reflection. 

* * *

For the rest of the week, Natasha was acting strangely. Steve didn’t know what to make of it— they still danced, but she was much more distant. After practice, she was short with him, her tone clipped and cold. He was afraid to ask why. She didn’t go to work in the coffee shop anymore and spent most of her days dancing instead. Her auditions were at the end of the week, she told him, so she needed to be on her game. 

Steve was determined to stay out of her way until then. That was what she implied, anyway— she wanted him to stay away from her. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had done something wrong. He was sleeping on the couch again, and they hardly spoke. 

It hurt. Unimaginably so. But things would go back to the way they used to be when she was done, he reasoned. So he waited it out as patiently as he could. 

At the end of the week, Natasha put all her things into a bag, zipped up her sweater, did her hair in a bun, and gave him a little smile that made him wiggle. Things would definitely be okay. He knew they would. “Wish me luck,” she said, opening the door.

Steve gave her a huge smile. “Good luck,” he said. 

***

Steve waited and waited for her to come back. She had said it would take a long time, but surely not this long. He glanced nervously at the clock on the kitchen stove. 2:12 AM, it read. He plopped back down onto the couch with a huge sigh and stared at the ceiling. 

When he heard the front door jiggle, he shot up and bounded to the door. Hastily, Steve unlocked it and Natasha came stumbling in with a laugh. She reeked of alcohol, her sweater was missing, and her hair was loose from its bun. She pulled out a bottle from her bag and drank deeply, gulping down whatever was in it until she was finished and then tried to set the empty bottle on the counter, missed, and it shattered on the floor. 

Steve flinched at the sound, but Natasha just started laughing again, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “Whoops,” she said. “I didn’ make it.” 

He cocked his head to the side with a frown. “Natasha?” 

She giggled like he had said the funniest thing she’d ever heard and stumbled into the living room. “I… I didn’...” her laughter faded and she pressed her fingers to her eyes, her body trembling. “They cut me after the second round,” she said. She sobbed, dry, ugly heaves as she sank to the floor. Panicked, Steve followed her into the living room and crouched by her side. 

“Natasha—”

“That was my one sh-shot,” she sobbed. “I can’t cover rent for this month. I can’t pay rent.”

Rent? He didn’t get what she was talking about. Steve hovered, afraid to touch her, unsure of what she needed. “Natasha please—” 

“I can’t take care of you, I can’t take care of myself. Stupid… stupid!” She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. “My… my ex was right. He was right about me! I… I can’t make it as a professional dancer,” she wailed. “Five years! This was five years of failed auditions...” Steve didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen her like this before. Even when she was crying before, she wasn’t like this. She spoke like she hated herself. It scared him. Natasha sniffled and laughed bitterly. “Maybe I’ll jus’ strip for rent.” 

His anxiety bubbled over and he reached out and took her hands. “Stop!” He cried. The room descended into sudden silence. Steve was shocked by his own outburst. Natasha, too, apparently, because she was staring at him now. Steve didn’t know what he was feeling anymore. He didn’t understand any of this. Confused, he pursed his lips and watched her, eyes pleading. “He wasn’t right about you,” he said quietly.

She swayed dangerously, giving him a slow blink. “I guess you don’t get it,” she said, her eyes bleary. “God, you don’t get anything, do you?”

That stung. Steve’s cheeks flushed and he gripped her hands tightly. “I… Maybe I don’t understand that, but we can figure it out, right Natasha? I can… I can help you. I want to help you.”

She blinked, her brows turning up in disbelief. “Why?” She asked softly. “Why are you so nice to me?”

Steve smiled sadly at her. “I told you, Natasha. I love you. I want you to be happy.”

She stared at him for a long, uncomfortable minute and Steve was determined not to look away. It felt like a contest somehow, like if he looked away, she wouldn’t believe him. She faltered, her expression melting into one he didn’t recognize. Satisfied that she understood him, Steve wiggled and was about to tell her she was going to be okay when Natasha suddenly leaned in and mashed her mouth on his. Steve blinked in surprise and released her hands, unsure of what this was. 

“Mmataffa?” He asked against her lips. 

“Sorry,” she said, pulling away. “Sorry I… that was wrong.”

Steve cocked his head, about to ask her what _that_ was when she leaned in and pressed her lips to his again. He frowned. Why was she doing it if it was wrong? He was about to ask her that, too, when her hands came up to cradle his neck, and she tilted her head a little so their lips fit together a little better. 

The adjustment made him hyper-aware of her— her lips gentle and soft, her cool fingers on the back of his neck, her nose brushing against his cheek. There was almost too much to process. Her lips, her hands on his skin and in his hair, the smell of her, the feel of her body as she leaned into him. Questions could wait— what this was doing to him made him unable to ask them anyway. 

Natasha slid her palm down from his neck to touch his chest, her lips grazing against his. Steve exhaled, forgetting for a moment how to breathe and afraid that if he did, this would be over. But it wasn’t over, she shifted, her breaths gentle on his skin, her hand drifting from his chest to his body as she pressed her lips to his again and again. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut as he let her continue, his whole body warm and strange. The ache, the terrible need inside him began to fill. This was what he wanted, his body told him. This connection, this expression, this moment with her. It didn’t _feel_ wrong. It couldn’t be wrong. Not when he wanted it this much. 

She pulled away slightly. “We can’t do this,” she reiterated, before pressing her lips to his again. Her breath was hot against his mouth whenever she spoke. It made him shiver. “You’re my…” her lips touched his again and he leaned into her, desperate for more. She pulled away to frame his face with both hands, her thumbs tracing little strokes on his cheeks. “You’re my dog.” 

Steve didn’t know what to say. He felt distant, lightheaded. Natasha’s eyes searched his face before settling on his mouth again. When she moved, he leaned in to meet her. This time, a soft noise escaped him when their lips touched. His hands came up to grip her waist, his lips moving under hers, with hers. _Not anymore_ , he wanted to tell her. Whatever he was, he wasn’t a dog anymore. 

Suddenly, Natasha went limp, and instead of light, wonderful touches, her lips mushed awkwardly onto his. He frowned, their conjoined mouths making a hideous noise when she breathed out before she slowly slid away, mouth leaving a wet trail down his face until her head came to rest against his chest. Steve blinked, leaning into the empty air where Natasha used to be, wondering if this was supposed to be part of the experience. 

“Natasha?” he asked, once he had found his voice. 

Her mouth was still open, and she was currently leaving a wet patch on his shirt. Cautiously, Steve moved her by her shoulders and her head lolled back. Not expecting the shift in weight, she slipped from his grasp and plonked onto the floor. 

He killed her. 

Steve screamed, his eyes brimming with tears as he scooped her into his arms. What was he going to do without her? Burying his face into her hair, Steve sobbed, holding her tightly. He couldn’t do this without her, could he? The question paralyzed him. If she was gone, who was he? Luckily, Natasha began snoring loudly in his ear and he pulled back to look at her. 

Her mouth was wide open, cheeks flushed and head still lolled back as he held her. Her hair was plastered to her cheek. She was just unconscious. Relieved, Steve laughed a little and brushed her hair from her face before squeezing her tightly. She shifted, nuzzling against his neck and he lifted her up and carried her to her room. 

He gently laid her down on her bed and removed her shoes and socks before pulling the covers over her. As he gazed at her sleeping face, he was filled with so many emotions he thought he might burst. It was instinct that made him slide his hand through her hair to tuck it behind her ear. Instinct that made him lean in and press his lips on her cheek. 

  
He couldn’t even begin to untangle how he felt, how she made him feel. 

“We’re going to be okay,” he whispered against her skin. He had to believe that. “You’ll be okay, Natasha.” 

She sighed and rolled over and Steve pulled away, his heart racing. He watched her for a moment longer before he left the room, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it! A very unsexy kiss scene! Haha this was a lot of fun to write. 
> 
> Probably a short lil chapter up next, but we shall see!


	10. Mischief

“No!” Loki hissed under his breath as he watched Steve sit on the couch. His enchantment shivered with his anger and Steve’s little smile became distorted for a moment. The handful of elegant patrons of the swanky uptown club Loki had relocated to after Thor left quivered in alarm. Steve touched his lips as he stared up at the ceiling. He looked happy. He looked so foolishly, uncontrollably happy. 

Loki seethed, remembering Thor’s drunken words about love. He should’ve given the wager a longer expiry. He was so convinced that the anxiety, confusion, humiliation, and torment of being human would’ve crushed Steve’s spirit by now. But he kept persisting, despite it all. And the foolish creature didn’t see the larger picture— eviction, joblessness, financial destitution...

The trickster god watched Steve bask in his kiss with Natasha for a moment longer before he made a disgusted little noise and the enchantment fell away. Irritated, he traced the rim of his glass. There were seven months left for him to win the wager. Seven months for Steve to learn the true hardships of being human, for Natasha to learn to resent him. He was confident that it would happen, that Steve would beg to become a dog again by the end of the year. Loki would prove Thor wrong, and finally, _finally,_ bring him home to Asgard. 

He would win this wager yet, of that he was certain. Frustrated, Loki conjured his enchantment once more to look at Steve. This time, the creature seemed to smile _at_ him. It was as if he looked straight through his magic and into his eyes. _They could be happy,_ Thor’s voice rang in his ears. That was the thing about Loki— he never fought fair. The thought of losing his wager pricked his vanity. 

So he cheated. 

It was easy to conjure himself into the tiny, rundown hovel of Natasha’s apartment. He appeared in the kitchen, avoiding the broken glass Natasha had left. Looking around, he scowled at the peeling paint on the walls, the cheap vinyl flooring, and the musty smell. How sad that he had to debase himself by being in such a place. He sighed before he put on a careful smile. “Hello Steve,” he said. 

Steve shot up from the couch, alarmed by the sudden intruder. But his distrust quickly melted into a happy little wiggle when he recognized who it was. “It’s you!” he said. 

Loki glided into the living room, gesturing for him to keep quiet. “Yes, it’s me,” he said warmly. “I’ve come to check in on you. Is your new form treating you well?” 

Steve stared down at his hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Yes,” he said. “I think so.” 

Anger bristled through Loki, but his smile never wavered. “Oh, my friend, I’m so glad to hear it,” he lied. “It must be so hard to adjust.”

The poor creature’s expression wavered a little. “It’s… hard sometimes,” he admitted. “I don’t understand a lot of things. And it’s a little overwhelming, the way that I think and feel…” Loki’s smile turned sharp for a moment. Steve was tender, fragile still. He only needed a push to realize he was truly miserable and— “But there’s a lot I can do now that I never could before,” Steve continued with a smile. Loki’s mouth soured. “I can dance, and understand lots of other things… Like thunder is caused by lightning, which is essentially just a stream of electrons travelling between the clouds and the ground. And electrons are—”

“Sounds interesting,” Loki interrupted, his smile barely managing to stay in place. “But what about—” 

But Steve was so excited to see him, that he couldn’t contain himself. “Have you tried scallop potatoes?” he asked, dancing from foot to foot. “They’re so good. And… Oh! And colours… Colours are so amazing. Like, did you know you have green eyes?” he asked. “They’re pretty.” 

Loki frowned, not expecting such a sincere reception. “Steve,” he said sharply. Steve blinked, surprised and Loki plastered his smile on again. “What about Natasha?” he asked, switching tactics. He needed Steve to understand how unhappy he truly was. “It must’ve been hard for her to adjust.”

Immediately, Steve clammed up, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks. He shot a brief glance toward her bedroom. Loki sighed internally. He should’ve started with this!

“Oh dear,” he said, feigning concern. “Do you love her?”

Steve’s reply was prompt, unwavering like it was barely a question worth asking. “Yes,” he said. 

The god of mischief rolled his eyes. Such blinding sentiment. “I mean, you’re _in_ love with her?” he asked, echoing Natasha’s question from earlier in the week. Steve’s brow furrowed a little. Now _there_ was a harder question to contend with. Loki smirked, and Steve withdrew as though he could sense his mal intent. “Do you understand what that means?” 

Steve swallowed hard, glancing back at Natasha’s room for a moment. The trickster god smiled, and he reached out to touch him, his fingers creeping over the back of Steve’s neck to give him a reassuring squeeze. “Shall I show you?” he said. 

Steve met his eyes. Loki could not help the shiver of delight as he drank in his expression. He was full of doubt, confusion, and perhaps most deliciously— curiosity, _desire_. So human of him. He could do a lot with those emotions. He’d led men to ruin with far less. “Tell me what you want, Steve.” 

“I… I want to understand,” he said softly. 

Loki’s grin widened and with his other hand, he touched Steve’s chest, centering his palm over his heart as he whispered his spell to life. Steve cried out, squirming as the magic spread through his body, but the trickster god held him still. Loki showed him— he showed him the love he had stolen over the centuries, showed him all his knowledge of it. The feelings of warmth, of being cherished and cared for, the “I love you’s” he had taken, and all the heartbreak and hurt, and grief and loss, that came with them. Maybe it was punishment, in a way. It wasn’t Steve’s fault that Loki despised such disgusting human weakness, but Steve was here, and so he couldn’t help but punish. 

He gave him more than he intended to give— three thousand separate experiences, nearly everything he had ever collected. When he was finished, he felt drained, sickened. They both were on the floor, Steve on his knees and Loki crouched next to him. The god shuddered and took a moment to collect himself, to put on that veneer he hid behind. Steve was clutching his chest, his forehead nearly touching the floor as he trembled. “Do you understand now?” Loki asked him softly. 

Steve curled into himself a little more tightly. “It hurts,” he said. 

Loki smirked at that. A human sentiment. A propensity toward hurt and self-destruction, a terrible need to love, to be loved and understood. To reach out, fail, falter and despair, and then reach out again. He never understood that. “It often does,” he said, smoothing Steve’s hair. 

“I love her,” he said again. It was clear he understood the full meaning of that statement. He was on the verge of breaking. “I love her so much.” 

Loki smirked wickedly, slowly smoothing his hand through his hair again. “Ah... you poor thing,” he said. “Things were simpler before, weren’t they? She adored you as you were, but what are you now?” He sighed sadly and shook his head. “You’re not a man, not a beast— you’re a burden.” Steve froze and Loki pulled him up to sit. “And now you’ve fallen in love with your owner...” he clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I thought it a kindness to bestow humanity upon you, but I can see now what a terrible mistake I’ve made.” 

“No,” Steve said, “I’m… not a mistake.”

Irritated, Loki put on his most sympathetic smile, his words like silk. “I gave you the ability to reason, Steve, so use it. What do you bring into her life?” He asked.

He nearly laughed to see the hope fade from Steve’s face. He wasn’t stupid— it was clear now that he understood, that the notion was dawning on him that love wasn’t enough to make this work, that Natasha may not even feel the same way about him. Loki suppressed a grin, delight unfurling at his core. Steve would fully arrive at that conclusion on his own, but the trickster god couldn’t resist helping him get there. 

“You are no better than a child,” he said. “You understand nothing, offer her nothing, and she pays and suffers for your simple, stupid, behaviour. What a toll it must be to look after you.” 

Steve blinked, and a tear spilled over and streaked down his face, his lips parted in devastation. Slowly, Loki reached out and wiped his tears away, moulding his tone into something gentle, mothering. He pulled Steve into an embrace. “How could she ever love you?” he whispered in his ear. “All you do is make her life harder.” 

Perhaps his years of meddling had made him arrogant, or perhaps it was that he’d never dealt with a creature quite like Steve before, but Loki wasn’t expecting him to bolt. He was bowled over, knocked to the ground with a cry. Already tired from the level of magic conjured earlier, Loki’s apparition disappeared. He sucked in an irritated breath, catching the attention of the bartender who stared at him with a tight little smile. 

“Another round?” He asked, nodding to Loki’s empty drink.

The trickster god pursed his lips. He had hoped Steve would ask to be turned back and he would have his victory tonight. Loki sighed and drummed his fingers on the countertop. Steve’s distress was promising, at least. His victory was all but assured now. He raked his gaze over the bartender, a predatory smile on his face. The man flushed, unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps his night wasn’t entirely ruined, after all. “Please,” he said, elegantly sliding his glass toward him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Another one of the sad chapters. Poor Steve has it ruff (haha sorry). 
> 
> Another short chapter coming your way soon!


	11. Cheers!

The frigid air nipped, cold and uninviting, against Steve’s skin as he ran through the dark New York streets. In his haste to escape from the stranger, he had forgotten his coat and shoes. There were too many things going on in his head. The stranger’s magic had left a confusing swirl of voices and emotions, thousands of stories that all seemed to end in the same way— betrayal, love lost, broken hearts, and hopelessness. 

Steve ducked his head and suppressed a sob with the back of his hand as he tried to outrun them. Was that what love was? Was that what he was destined for? Terrible unhappiness? He shivered, a light rain chilling him to the bone. Even if it wasn’t truly what love was, the stranger was right. He had nothing to offer to Natasha, nothing to contribute to her life. He wasn’t a man, he wasn’t her equal. He was helpless without her, totally naive and ignorant. How could he say he loved her when he wasn’t capable of giving her the kind of partner she needed? There was no excuse for what he was. 

Steve finally stopped running and stood panting in the street, his brow furrowed. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t like this anymore. Maybe Natasha would be better off with him as a dog. She never asked for this, she never wanted this. When he agreed to become human, he wasn’t thinking of what she wanted, and yet he expected her to take care of him like he was a dog still. Hot tears tracked down his cheeks. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He didn’t know what he wanted. 

Distraught, Steve didn’t notice that he had wandered into the road until a car suddenly turned the corner. The squeal of tires and blinding flash of headlights were not nearly as unpleasant as having his legs knocked out from under him. Steve had never been airborne before. He’d thought about what it might be like, but the experience was perhaps not what he had imagined. His limbs flew in all directions as he cartwheeled through the early morning air like a Russian gymnast. If he had been born a cat, maybe he would’ve landed on his feet, but he wasn’t so lucky. Instead, he crumpled head first onto the pavement, his face smashing onto the road with an impressive crack. Steve tumbled before coming to a stop face down on the road. It smelled funny— like old pennies. Dazed, he watched the car speed away. His nose was bleeding, his face and shoulder ached.

Steve rolled over and stared up at the sky for a moment, blinking when the misty rain landed in his eyes. Funnily enough, his head felt clearer now than it did before. All traces of the stranger’s magic had left him. The stories and voices were gone, the confusing, swirling emotions were gone, and he was alone inside his head. It was hard to have a mental breakdown, Steve realized, when he couldn’t feel his face. He sucked in a little breath and he rolled onto his side with a groan. Slowly, he crawled to the curb where he slumped over. He’d forgotten that humans could be cruel. Steve wiped at his bloody nose, his eyes wet with tears. Living with Natasha made it easy to forget that he used to be a stray. People weren’t always kind to him then. The world wasn’t kind. He shivered, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Allfather’s beard…” a deep, rich voice exclaimed, “Steve?” 

Steve looked up to see a man he didn’t recognize. He was tall and brawny, his long blonde hair gathered into a loose ponytail. His beard was neatly groomed, his clothes simple and plain. But there was an aura about him that he recognized— it was similar to the green-eyed stranger’s presence. The man knelt and helped Steve to sit. “What happened?” he asked, meeting Steve’s eyes. 

Steve wanted to answer him, but when he opened his mouth, a sob slipped out instead and he burst into tears. 

* * *

Thor panicked as he watched Steve sob on the curb. He fidgeted, still feeling the pull of the drinks he had shared with Loki an hour or two ago as he awkwardly patted Steve’s shoulder. Tears always made him uncomfortable, he never knew what to do. Well— that wasn’t entirely true, he did know of one solution. He bent down and scooped Steve into his arms. Steve yelped, his arms wrapping around Thor’s neck as he carried him like a princess, heroically stumbling back to the bar. The open sign flashed like a beacon in the early morning, welcoming them back. Thor set Steve down outside the bar with a smile and triumphantly clapped him on the arms. Steve swayed a little, his face bruised and bloody as he watched him. “No need to cry,” he said brightly. “Everything will be fine now.” 

Thor was surprised when Steve suddenly wrapped his arms around him and buried his face into his chest instead. He stood in Steve’s tight embrace for a moment, before he suddenly felt very, very tired. Was he really trying to fix Steve’s problems with drinks? He paused, his heart sinking as he felt Steve tremble. All his mirth was gone, any joy he took in this scheme withered as he was forced to acknowledge his own part in the poor creature’s suffering. Perhaps Loki was right— humanity was a plague that led only to misery. It was hard to argue otherwise when Steve was so utterly broken. Hesitantly, Thor placed his hand on the back of Steve’s head. 

“It will be alright, my friend,” he assured him. But Steve was silent, his face still hidden against his chest. In the three thousand years he’d lived, he’d never felt so guilty. All this for a game? Thor ducked his head in shame before he spoke in Steve’s ear, his cheek resting on the other man’s soft, golden hair. “It will be alright, Steven,” he said. He didn’t mind taking the loss on this bet. This wasn’t amusing anymore. He felt Steve curl inward as if trying to escape his words and the thunder god’s heart grew heavy with shame. “You don’t have to stay like this,” he said. “You can be restored to your original form, you need only ask.”

Steve pulled away, his expression clouded. His left eye, the brown one, was swelling shut, his cheek inflamed by scrapes and bruises. At least the bleeding from his nose had slowed. “I can be a dog again?” he asked softly. “You can turn me back?”

Thor nodded. “Yes,” he said with a little smile. “It will be just as it was before. Natasha will forget this, you will forget this and you can return to the life you had.” 

That was Loki’s contingency anyway. He had already plotted his victory and told Thor many, many times how Steve would come crawling back to beg to be a dog once more. It wasn’t quite going as he had described, but the details hardly mattered. Steve paused, his gaze drifting to his feet. He was shivering and Thor gently wrapped his arm around his shoulders and guided him into the bar. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he said, “let’s get you warmed up.” 

Thor sat them down in his and Loki’s usual seats and gestured to the beleaguered bartender, who clearly looked like she wanted to go home. She brought Thor two bottles of beer and he slid one to Steve. Steve didn’t take it, his gaze turned to his hands as they rested in his lap. It was silent for a while and Thor drank and let him sit and quietly think. Two hundred years of service wasn’t so long in the grand scheme of his life, he reasoned, and if it put an end to Steve’s misery then he would gladly serve them. He sighed and tapped the countertop thoughtfully, wondering how quickly Loki would arrive to gloat once he summoned him here.

Beside him, Steve curled his fingers into a loose fist and wiped his eyes. “No,” he said. “I don’t want to change back.” 

Thor, shocked, nearly spat out his beer. He whirled to face him. “But—“

“I… I wouldn’t be able to hold her hand,” Steve said. “Or tell her how much she means to me, or see the colour of her hair, or laugh with her, or dance with her.” He sighed and met Thor’s gaze, and there was a determination in his eyes that struck the thunder god to his core. “And maybe I won’t be able to do that anyway. I don’t know if Natasha loves me. Maybe it’s not enough to just love somebody and hope things will be okay. I know I’m a mistake, that I’m naive and stupid, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t try.” 

Thor had nothing to say. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten why he loved this place, these people. When he realized he had his mouth open, he quickly snapped it shut and swallowed hard, truly humbled in Steve’s presence. When it was clear he had nothing to add, Steve continued, “I want to be a man, even if that means things aren’t always okay. I want to be better for myself,” he leaned in emphatically, “I want to be a person for me, not for anyone else. I want to know what kind of man I am and… I… I can’t go back to Natasha until I can stand on my own.” 

Thor understood that. By all nine realms, he understood. He wanted that once too, a long, long time ago. “Aye…” he cleared his throat a little. “Yes, I see. Perhaps I can help you with that.” 

Steve smiled and the thunder god looked away to disguise his watery eyes. Human perseverance always made him emotional. He focused on Steve’s voice instead. “And maybe, once I’m a better man, I can see her again and we’ll do the….” Steve frowned, looking for a word, “the mouth…. thing again.” 

“Mouth thing?” 

Steve looked surprised that Thor didn’t know. “You know, the... uh…” he frowned, clearly struggling to explain what he meant. Thor frowned and scratched his cheek, about to suggest ‘battle cry’ when Steve huffed in frustration, leaned in, and pressed his lips to his. 

Thor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as a muffled little noise bubbled up from the back of his throat. Steve’s hand carefully held his neck, his fingers delved into his hair. Their lips slotted together gently. It was brief, tender, and then Steve pulled away, “That,” he said. 

Thor sat in stunned silence for a moment before he laughed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A kiss?”

Steve’s eyes widened. “That’s a kiss?” 

“Yes,” Thor said, greatly amused. 

Steve’s surprise quickly gave way to confusion. “I thought people didn’t kiss.”

Thor turned and sipped his beer. “Mmm no, they do.” 

“But not with their tongues,” Steve said decisively. 

Thor shrugged, tilting his head a bit. “No, with their tongues too.” 

Steve looked utterly betrayed. “What?!” He blinked, his expression slowly becoming more and more outraged. “Natasha said—”

“You are thinking of something else,” Thor assured him. “And kissing with one’s tongue requires a bit more finesse.” 

Steve‘s outrage melted into awe, his eyes shining at the prospect of learning something new. “Can you show me that, too?”

Thor laughed and patted his uninjured cheek. “Perhaps another time. If you are to be a man who can stand on his own and support himself and the people around him, there are other feats you must endure.”

Steve became determined once more. He squared his shoulders and drew a little breath. “I’m ready.”

“Good. Let’s get you a job.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get better, I swear! I just hate ending things with romantic leads having a huge imbalance of power in their relationship. Steve's got a bit of growing up to do! More on Natasha next chapter.


	12. Beginnings

It had been a while since Natasha had had to couch surf. Clint and Bobbi generously took her in, letting her stay in the spare room until she could get back on her feet. She had so much on her plate, but the biggest blow was that Steve was gone. 

Natasha sighed, her life put in boxes now piled high in Clint’s guest room. She was broke, her dreams were dashed, and her…(friend? ex-dog?) _Steve_ was missing. It was funny, in a way, that he was the one to leave after all of that. Her eyes welled with tears and she wiped them away, confused about everything that had happened. She was worried sick about him when he hadn’t come back, but part of her wondered if it was her that drove him away. After she had woken up alone in her apartment, she vaguely recalled having a huge drunken meltdown and kissing him. 

Natasha flushed with shame, her heart racing. She had done exactly what she told herself she wouldn’t do— throw herself at him for being nice to her. How could she have done that? Who knows what she said to him when she was like that. With a miserable little groan, she buried her face into her hands. The awful emptiness inside her told her that she missed Steve terribly. She worried about him. She didn’t know how she felt about him anymore. 

She was always on the losing end of things, wasn’t she? She was a loser.

The soft tap of nails on hardwood heralded the arrival of Lucky, Clint and Bobbi’s one-eyed rescue dog. Natasha stared at the retriever in contemplative silence, trying her best not to be reminded of Steve when he whined and cocked his head. “You’re not going to suddenly become human, are you?” she asked. Lucky wagged his tail and shoved his face onto her lap. Natasha pet him, paying special attention to his floppy ears. “Because I don’t think I could handle that again,” she said softly. 

Lucky snuffled and demanded more head pats, but her phone buzzed and she checked the notification instead.

It was Yelena. _Heard about auditions,_ she wrote, _sorry Nat._

Her heart sank to see it. She had left the academy years ago in search of her big break. Everyone wished her well, sent her off with surety that she could make it. She was the best of them, their star dancer, and everyone had been so, so proud. But every year she failed, chipped away at her confidence a little. It felt like she couldn't go back. That somehow, everyone would be disappointed in her. That they would know she was a failure, a loser, a letdown. Every year she failed, made her want to prove herself more— she needed this. She was obsessed. Gradually, Natasha stopped calling, texting, or responding to her friends and one by one, they stopped reaching out. She knew what they were saying— she was too good to talk to them, too high and mighty. Only Yelena kept in touch after all this time. 

_Yeah,_ Natasha typed back. She wavered. _I think I’m done trying,_ she typed. 

Natasha almost pressed send when Yelena messaged: _The Academy is looking for an instructor. I hope it’s okay that I gave them your name. They’re interested._

Natasha paused, imagining the shame, the guilt of going back there with nothing but a long story of failed auditions, abusive ex’s, and eviction notices. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she hissed, tears stinging her eyes. She thought of Steve, of what he said. “You’re kind, funny, and talented,” she told herself. “You’re somebody.”

Maybe she wasn’t cut out for broadway or cirque, but she could still be a dancer dammit! If anything, she could still prove that and get her shit together. When… if Steve ever came home, she didn’t want to be in the exact same place she had been for the past five years. She taught him to dance, so she could do this. She could definitely do this. 

Natasha sniffled and texted Yelena: _Thank you Alyona! ❤️❤️❤️ I’ll be in touch._

Natasha closed out the app and something caught her eye and she paused. This was totally morally, ethically, wrong. She promised herself she’d never use this again. That it was weird and invasive and completely amoral. Natasha opened the pet tracker app, watching the cheery picture of a dog on the loading screen. _Version 2.1 available,_ it said. Natasha sighed and ignored the update. She tapped Steve’s serial number. _Searching..._ it read. It was another few minutes before it finally found the location. Natasha squinted. 

According to the app, Steve was currently in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. _Like us? Consider leaving a review!_ The app pleaded desperately. She snorted softly and tossed away her phone in disappointment. She got what she paid for, she supposed. 

There was no way Steve was at sea.

* * *

Steve was at sea! He liked the smell a lot and had to try very, very hard not to open his mouth and lean over the rail when he was on deck. Thor (as Steve had learned his name was) had gotten him a job on the small cargo ship he worked on, which was captained by probably the scariest man alive, Nick Fury. 

When Thor had rolled up to the dock with Steve in tow, Fury fixed him with such a look that Steve cowered and almost turned around and went home. Instead, Thor set him aside with a gentle smile and Steve watched Thor argue with Fury. He didn’t know what kind of story Thor was making up, but he overheard words like “cult” and “escape”. 

Fury shot him a glance and Steve smiled hesitantly, his face still sore from his encounter with the car. He knew not to say anything yet, especially since he didn’t really know what was going on. There was a bit more back and forth before Fury sighed audibly and gestured to Steve to come closer. “Got any ID?” he asked gruffly. 

Steve straightened excitedly. He had no shoes, but he did have his documents. Natasha told him to keep those in his pockets and never leave without them in case he ever needed to find his way back home. Steve fished out the ziplock bag from his pants and handed it to Fury. The other man frowned and looked at his passport with a short laugh. “Yeah…” he said. “We’ll pretend _that’s_ real.” 

“You owe me a favour,” Thor interjected. “This is how you can repay it.” 

Fury sighed again, long and loud. “Fine,” he said, handing Steve his documents. “If we get stopped by port authorities, he’s going to have to hide.” 

Thor grinned and patted Steve on the back so hard he nearly lost his breath. “You can do that, right Steve?” 

Steve nodded enthusiastically, wiggling slightly as Fury’s frown deepened. He finally gave Steve a once over and squinted. “Where the hell are your shoes?” he asked. 

***

Fury’s crew was small and wary, much like Fury himself. His job was to help the deck crew and his only real requirement was that he had to lift and pull various things, do what the captain or senior deckhand said, wake up early, and not fall overboard. 

The first few weeks were hard, especially since nobody seemed to trust or like him. Thor left Steve at the docks, citing business with his brother, and that left Steve to face the rest of the crew alone. There was Tony, the ship’s engine officer and IT guy. He talked so fast that Steve wasn’t sure he was speaking English at first. When he finally did recognize that he was, in fact, speaking a language he understood, everything he said still went straight over Steve’s head. Whenever Tony spoke, Steve learned to just smile politely. It was easier than asking him to repeat himself. 

The other crew included Scott, the other engineer and weather technician; Hill, Fury’s second in command (and equally as scary); and the other deckhands Morita, Jones, Falsworth, Sawyer, Dernier, and Carter… And then there was Sam. 

Sam Wilson was everything Steve wanted to be. He was calm, a man of very few words, handsome, and intelligent. His presence commanded respect. He radiated cool likeability. Everything he did was effortless, measured, calculated and efficient. The rest of the crew admired him as well. They respected his space, and listened to him, the rare times that he did speak. Steve couldn’t help but feel totally inadequate in his presence and often found himself staring at him, totally awestruck. It was Sam Wilson who gave him an extra set of clothes (including boots), Sam Wilson who offered the empty bunk in his room for Steve to sleep on. They didn’t speak much. Steve didn’t know what to say anyway and Sam never seemed to talk to anyone beyond work or pleasantries. But Steve liked that about him, he didn’t have to try so hard to listen or worry about not understanding anything he said. There was a sort of comfort in being in Sam’s presence that he wished he could emulate. When he was caught staring, he’d quickly look away and busy himself with other things. All Steve wanted was for Sam to like him. For anyone to like him. 

That felt like the real test. 

***

It was two weeks in when Stark reached out about “payroll” which Steve thought was some kind of trick. He knew how to sit, and roll over and fetch (he loved fetch), but he didn’t know how to payroll. When Steve just smiled politely, Tony frowned. He scratched his head, before dropping his gaze to the paper he had been writing on, crumpled it up, and put his feet up on the desk. That was the thing about Tony, Steve noticed, he was always doing at least eight different things at the same time. 

“Money, Steve,” he said. “I assume you want to get paid?” 

The way Tony looked at him made Steve assume that he did indeed want to be paid, so he nodded. “Okay, then I need your institution number, branch number, and account number for direct deposit.” 

Steve smiled politely, staring at him in total confusion. Tony took his feet from the desk and tossed the paper in the direction of the wastebasket across the room. As the paper ball flew, it was as if Steve was watching it in slow motion. He felt himself exploding forward, his legs propelling him into a rocketing sprint. His eyes never left the paper ball, wrinkled and forlorn, waiting sadly on the floor as he lept impressively over the desk and smashed into the wall with a lung-crushing _oof_. As soon as he hit the floor, Steve rolled to his feet and lunged forward to grab the ball triumphantly. He jumped to his feet again, a huge smile on his face, only to find Tony was frozen in place, his hand still paused mid-throw, mouth open in slack-jawed awe. 

Heat immediately crept into Steve’s cheeks and he cleared his throat. “You, uh… dropped this,” he said, crossing the room to put the ball back on Tony’s desk. 

Tony stared at it for a moment before he said, “Thanks.” He picked up the ball of paper again and Steve wiggled, his heart leaping into his throat at the notion that he might throw it again. Instead, Tony shot him a glance and cautiously set the ball down. “Soooooo… Can I get your direct deposit information?” 

Steve wanted so badly to give him what he wanted, but he didn’t know what he was talking about. “Five,” he said decisively. Tony looked at him as if waiting for him to continue and Steve panicked. “Seven?” 

  
  


Tony laughed, looking at him in disbelief and Steve had never felt so panicked and ashamed in his life. The other man thought it was funny at first, then he was horrified. “You mean you have no bank account?” 

“No,” Steve admitted sheepishly. 

“No Social Security Number, 401k, nothing?” 

“No,” Steve said. 

Tony sighed long and loud. That seemed to be a trend around here. “Well… I can set up some things for you. It may not be legal, exactly, but…” he handed Steve a softcover rectangle and he cautiously took it. Natasha liked to look at these. “This might help with understanding some of the basics.”

“Thanks,” Steve said a smile building on his face. Finally, he was making progress in learning about being a person. Tony was staring at him with a deepening frown, but Steve was too excited to stop himself from wiggling. He stared at the rectangle in his hands, smiling wider as his eyes traced over the shapes on the front cover. He looked up at Tony again. “I can’t read,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has some growing up to do! Alyona is the diminutive or pet name for Yelena. 
> 
> I like Steve on boats, what can I say?


	13. Friends

Thor and Loki sat in tense silence, both unwilling to accuse the other of meddling in their wager. Their tension manifested as a stifling swirl of oppressive energy that scared off any patrons from the dive bar. The bartender stared at nothing in particular, knowing perhaps, that looking directly at the source of such power would strike him dead where he stood. 

“I still don’t know how the mutt managed to get aboard a ship, of all things,” Loki said, her eyes flashing dangerously as she stared at the enchantment. 

“Aye,” Thor agreed tersely. “Just as I wonder what made  _ Steve, _ ” he emphasized the name in a pointed correction, “want to leave in the first place.” 

Loki’s lips stretched into a thin smile as she watched the creature in question. He was sitting next to the crewmen of the sad little vessel, his leg bouncing nervously. The two gods sat in such terrible silence that the poor bartender fainted. 

“I wonder if such a stupid creature is safe on such a journey,” Loki said lightly. “Seafaring is nearly as dangerous today as it was in 900.” 

Thor snorted, the derisive sound sent electricity sparking over his skin. “Was that the last time you were at sea?” he asked. When Loki offered no reply, he smiled. “Aye, as I recall, you never much of a sailor.” 

Loki sipped her cocktail, her eyes hardening as she watched the enchantment. Seeing something there, she laughed before she turned to face Thor with a wicked smile. “If he dies, which one of us wins the wager?” she asked. 

* * *

Steve had never heard the word ‘Nor’easter’ before, but he knew from the grim look on Scott’s face that it probably wasn’t good. When he asked, Scott kindly explained and he suddenly grew very nervous. Steve understood what hurricanes and cyclones were. 

***

Fury’s bluntness was strangely calming to Steve. He gathered the crew on the bridge and gave them some very grim news. “We’ll be on the edge of it,” Fury said, going over Scott’s report. “It’s sweeping up the Atlantic coast, if we can dock in Halifax, the worst of it will pass us over while we ride it out, but we’re not going to outrun it before then.”

There was a beat of silence among the crew and Steve fidgeted nervously, looking at each of their faces for some kind of reassurance. Only Sam smiled at him and he wiggled a little in response. “We’re in for a rough ride,” Fury continued, his eyes on the sea ahead of them. 

***

The sea suddenly turned savage, the wind howling and vicious as the Nor’easter bore down on them. Their vessel was tossed into huge swells rising like monsters to swallow them whole. Most of the crew were holed up in the kitchen or their rooms, but a handful of them, Steve included, stayed on the bridge. Steve did his best not to shake, and the wide-eyed, frightened expressions of the rest of his crewmates made him feel not quite so alone. The ship pitched and rolled, driving straight through a wave as it crashed down onto the deck. 

The violence of the storm caused a cable line securing the cargo crates to slacken and as they drove through the next swell, the crate shifted and slid out of place. 

“Damn!” Fury growled. 

Steve stood, watching the deck. They would lose the load if this kept up. Behind him, there was a commotion. Carter cried out in alarm and when Steve turned back to watch the deck, he was horrified to find someone making their way toward the cargo. The waves rose ahead of them in a huge swell that swallowed the bow of the ship and crashed into the windscreen of the bridge. 

“Sam!” Carter cried out, coming up beside Steve to watch. 

Before he could think, Steve was scrambling out on the deck. The ship pitched up, the deck tilted dangerously beneath his feet and he held onto the cabin door as they plowed through another wave. The freezing water crashed into him, slamming him against the door. He was soaked, shivering, the wind so loud he couldn’t think. He wiped the salt spray from his eyes, blinking furiously as he searched the deck. 

Sam was kneeling by the cargo load, ratcheting the cables down, holding on when the ship rolled down into the waves. Steve ran for him, nearly making it when a wave smashed into the ship, knocking them to the right. Sam fell back and let go of the ratchet and the cargo container shifted dangerously. Steve scrambled to his feet and grabbed Sam, hauling him back before the line securing the container snapped and the container slid across the deck, almost crushing them. 

Sam whirled on him, water dripping from his nose. “We’re going to lose the load!” he yelled over the storm. 

Steve grabbed him furiously, his fingers white. “It’s not worth your life!” 

Sam stared at him for a moment, before the ship pitched down and they slid toward the bow. Steve held onto him tightly and looked up just in time to see the wall of water before it crashed down on them. The force of the wave knocked the air from his lungs, crushed and battered him. Steve screamed, getting a mouthful of seawater. He coughed and gasped and Sam nearly slipped from his grasp, but he held on. When he felt the deck shift upward as they crested another wave, Steve planted his foot on the deck and pushed with everything he had. They slid back across the deck toward the cabin door. Another wave crashed onto them, sweeping them to the left and into the wall. Before Steve could get his bearings, he was crushed under the next wave. His head slammed against the metal exterior of the ship. Dazed, Steve shivered and scrambled, his limbs like jelly. He couldn’t stand up, wasn’t even sure which direction  _ was _ up, but he held onto Sam, refusing to let go. Suddenly hands were grabbing him, taking hold of the collar of his shirt, his arms, his belt. 

With a mighty heave, Steve and Sam were pulled away from the monstrous roar of the waves and back into the safety of the cabin. Water flooded in behind him as he floundered and struggled. Someone waded past him and shut the door, barring it shut. Steve looked up to see all the deckhands— Morita, Jones, Falsworth, Sawyer, Dernier, Carter, and even Tony soaked and sprawled in the hallway. They all stared at each other in shock for a moment before Scott slid down behind him with a sigh. “Everyone okay?” he asked. 

***

After checkups and reprimands, Steve went back to his bunk. He was shaking and wasn’t sure he’d ever stop. Slowly he peeled off the soaked base layers he had on and pulled on the warmest sweater and pants he could find. He was jittery all over, rattled to his core. He had run out without thinking and that was very, very stupid of him. 

When Sam entered, heading for his bunk, Steve was silent, feeling the roiling of the ship under his feet. 

“You shouldn’t have come out there,” Sam said suddenly. “I had it handled.” 

Before he could stop himself, Steve growled. He quickly covered it up by clearing his throat. “Yeah,” he said tersely. 

Sam shot him a glance before he pulled his shirt on. “I didn’t…” he trailed off and they sat in tense silence for a moment. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly. “I meant that you could’ve been killed.” 

The notion that he could’ve died settled over him and he shivered. What would he have done then? He never would’ve seen Natasha again. Steve frowned and took the blanket from his bed and wrapped it around him. “Why did you go out there?” he asked. “What were you thinking?”

Sam looked troubled. “I don’t know,” he said. “I… Sometimes I get to thinking this is all I’ve got.”

“Sam, you nearly died for a crate full of stuff.” Steve shivered, his teeth chattering as he watched Sam. He seemed sad and he looked away. 

“You know, the whole time, all I could think was nobody would miss me. There’s nobody waiting for me. Nobody would even know I was gone.”

Steve watched him for a moment longer. “I’d miss you,” Steve said. “I’d know you were gone.” 

“You don’t even know me, man.”

“Do I need to know you to miss you?” Sam turned to stare at him and Steve held his blanket a little closer and walked over and sat down on Sam’s bunk to watch the floor. “I don’t need to know you to feel a hole in my life. People are like… burrs, I think. They’re sticky. It’s like you bump into people and they leave something with you. It changes you and you change them.” When the bed dipped next to him, Steve leaned tiredly against the other man. “You’ve bumped into me, so I’d miss you, Sam, even if I don’t know you. And… the thought of you never bumping into anyone again, it makes me think there’d be a Sam-shaped hole in the world somehow. There’d be so many others who would never know you and that makes me sad.” 

It was quiet in the room and he turned to find Sam was looking straight ahead, tears tracking down his cheeks. He panicked, afraid he’d said the wrong thing. Not knowing what to do, he took his hand. It was like something broke in Sam. He pulled Steve into a tight embrace and Steve leaned on him, suddenly exhausted. 

“You saved my life, Steve,” he said. 

“Yeah,” was all Steve could think to say. 

They sat in silence for a moment. Steve could feel the other man’s heartbeat through his back, feel the rise and fall of his breaths, the warmth of his skin. It helped steady him. Outside the storm raged, battering the ship with wind and rain and he trembled. He wished Natasha was here. He wished he could see her again soon. He wished this wasn’t so scary and hard. Tears stung his eyes and he burrowed against Sam’s shoulder and just held on like they were still in the storm. 

Steve wasn’t sure how long they sat like that for, but when he was too tired to keep his eyes open, he rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder and sighed. 

“Hey, Sam?” he asked.

Sam sniffed and cleared his throat. “Yeah, Steve?”

“Can I sleep with you?” he asked. When Sam was eerily silent, Steve felt he needed to clarify, “I’m scared of storms.” 

***

Maybe this was like a sleepover. Sam was curled up behind him in awkward silence. The mattress was definitely too small for two grown men, but Steve didn’t mind and Sam didn’t seem to, either. Steve didn’t know a lot about sleepovers, but he did know that friends had sleepovers. His eyes grew wide at the prospect.  _ Friends _ . The notion was so exciting that Steve had to forcibly restrain himself from wiggling. Instead, he vibrated, and he could feel Sam turn over to face his back. 

“Did you really escape from a cult?” he asked. 

Steve shook his head. “No.” He turned over to face Sam staring deeply into his dark eyes. He wanted him to know, for whatever reason. “I used to be a dog,” he said. 

Sam laughed until he saw Steve was serious. “Oh,” he said. He frowned in confusion. “Like… a furry kind of thing?”

Steve sensed that this was another reference that was over his head. “No, like I was an actual dog.” Sam was quiet, clearly waiting for him to elaborate so Steve swallowed and continued. “I lived in an alley for most of my life. When I was a puppy I got into it with other dogs a lot. I was pretty small and other dogs without people could be pretty territorial. We used to fight over the big bin of garbage behind the restaurant.” Sam was squinting at him, and he smiled nervously. “And rats, Sam. You would not believe the rats.” 

“Uh…” 

Sam didn’t seem to know what to say, so Steve kept talking. “There was this green-eyed man. Er… Lady, sometimes. Anyway, he offered me the chance to be a person so I could tell Natasha— she’s my person, how much she means to me.” 

When Sam went completely quiet at the mention of the stranger, Steve frowned. He seemed troubled and Steve squirmed, wanting so badly to be believed. “I have a thing in my back,” he said brightly, remembering the first day he had truly met Natasha. It seemed to convince her that he was a dog-turned-person, so maybe it would work for Sam, too. “Wanna feel?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, he just flipped over so that Sam faced his back again. Sam hesitantly lifted Steve’s shirt and found the little bump between his shoulder blades and sucked in a breath. “So… you used to be a dog.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. 

“And now you’re not.”

“Yeah.”

Sam burst out laughing and Steve didn’t have the wherewithal to stop himself from wiggling. “You believe me?” 

“I do,” Sam said. 

Steve flipped over to face him, a wide smile on his face. “Why?” he asked. He knew how crazy he must sound. 

Sam smiled back. “Well, I used to be a bird,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another semi-serious chapter! I had like 5 potential backstories for Sam that I was considering, but I kind of just said, oh fuck it and went with this one. Sam’s origins are a bit more specific than it initially seems, but more on that later I guess lol.
> 
> Checking in with Natasha next week! I think the story will be wrapping up soon, not sure how many chapters left though.


	14. Until Then

Natasha took a sip of her cafe latte, her eyes fixed on the man across from her as she sized him up with calculated efficiency. She leaned in, a half-smile on her face, her eyes sharp. “I’m the world’s deadliest assassin,” she said. “They call me Black Widow and I can murder you with my thighs. There are many ways to kill a man, but I like the personal nature of that. I was recruited two months ago by a cult of assassins and murdered my way to the top.” Her target’s eyebrows raised slightly as she spoke. She took another sip of her drink and leaned in closer. “I had a dog who became a man,” she continued, unable to disguise the hurt she felt at the mention of Steve. “He was the only thing keeping me good and now that he’s gone, I’m a loose cannon. The bounty on your head is lower than I’d like, but I can’t afford to be picky. Truthfully, I’d kill you for five dollars if it meant I got to feel the thrill of ending another life with my thighs one more time.” 

Across from her, Steve the pet shelter receptionist stared down at his phone. “Wow,” he said in a disinterested tone. 

Natasha sighed and dropped the charade, sinking back into her seat. Idly she checked the time on her phone before glancing back up at him. Clearly, he hadn’t listened to a single word she had said for the twenty miserable minutes they had spent together. She might as well be talking to a wall. A bland, beige wall. Her date with Steve the receptionist was going worse than she could have ever anticipated. 

She took another long sip of her latte. Teaching was going well. Her pride took a massive hit, and some of her former friends were a bit cold towards her, but she actually had money for once and Yelena was still her friend despite everything. She sighed and studied Steve, taking in his droopy, glassy dark eyes and the slack-jawed way he breathed through his mouth. He took a loud sip of his coffee and she smiled dryly. Everything else in her life was falling into place, so why not this? This _was_ what she wanted, right? 

Natasha drummed her fingers on the table as she waited for Steve to say something in his trademark monotone drawl. Part of her wondered how _her_ Steve would’ve reacted to such a story. Likely he would’ve cocked his head and laughed when she told him she killed people. He would’ve asked her questions and listened. He would’ve told her about something he found interesting. She imagined his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was happy. 

It had been a month now since she last saw him and it was hard to accept that he was gone. Natasha swallowed hard, tears burning her eyes as she stared at the man across from her and wished he was her Steve. It killed her that she didn’t know where he had gone. It’s not like she could look for him. What was she going to do? File a missing person’s report for someone who didn’t legally exist? 

Steve the receptionist finally looked up at her, a bland little smile on his face. “So, Natalie—” 

“Natasha,” she corrected. 

“Sorry, Naprasha,” he glanced down at his phone again. “What kind of name is that? Italian?” 

She squinted at him. “Seriously?” 

“Hah,” he said, like she had told him some kind of joke. “So anyway. Your place or mine?” 

She nearly choked on her coffee. “Oh my God!” 

“Yeah, your place is probably better. Also, can I borrow five bucks? I need to get the bus home after.” 

Before he could look up again, Natasha bolted faster than she had ever run before. She was halfway down the block when she burst out laughing and startled the small elderly woman carrying her groceries on the opposite side of the sidewalk. 

“Sorry!” she said, stifling her laughter. 

She couldn’t say what possessed her, but she ran to the local park. She had taken Steve here once, or rather, he had taken her. He let go of her hand and chased after the birds, yelling incoherently while she apologized to the bewildered families trying to enjoy their day. When she spotted a big flock of pigeons, she grinned and sprinted straight for them. Alarmed, they took off in a panicked, cooing burst as she gracefully leapt and twirled her way through them, laughing all the while. 

_You deserve better_. She could picture Steve telling her. He had tried to tell her that so many times. She smiled in spite of the tears in her eyes. She knew that now. She deserved better. “I miss you,” she said, stopping to watch the birds fly away. “Steve, I miss you.” 

_Please come home_ , she wanted to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. All this time she wanted to believe that he was just lost. That he had wandered off somewhere and was waiting for her to find him. But she told him how to find her again, her address was on his fake ID which she knew he had with him. She had made sure that he knew how to get home and he was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. If he hadn’t come back, it was either because he couldn’t, or because he didn’t want to. She didn’t know why he left, but in a way, she felt like she could understand. She had left her life behind in search of something more, too. All he knew was a few city blocks in New York and she was the centre of his life. Maybe he wanted the chance to live— really live. 

It was hard to let him do that. It was hard not to keep him, covet him, and let him love her. But she had been on the other side of that and she was still paying for it. As much as she missed him, she would never, ever do that to him. If she loved him, then she had to respect that he had left. He deserved better, too. 

She paused, the realization hitting her like a freight train. She was… in love with him? A laugh bubbled from her and she let it all come tumbling out. Natasha laughed at the absurdity of that, at herself for being like this. She was in love with him. It didn’t matter right now, anyway. 

Natasha drew a deep breath, letting the cool air sink down into her lungs. “Thank you!” she shouted as loud as she could. Loud enough, maybe, for Steve to hear her. She hoped wherever he was that he was happy, that he was safe. “Thank you for loving me! But I’m going to show you—” her voice broke with a little sob. She took a shuddering little breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m going to show you I can be happy,” she said. “That I can love myself and believe in myself as much as you loved and believed in me. I don’t need anyone to fix me anymore. I can fix myself.” 

Natasha cried for a bit, allowing herself to finally break down over everything that had happened. When she had no tears left, she collected herself for a moment before she began to walk home, making cheerful eye contact with the families in the park who gathered their children a little closer when she approached. Maybe he had taught her that, too. It didn’t really matter what anyone else thought. 

Her phone buzzed and she saw Steve the receptionist’s name come up on the call display. She chuckled and picked up. Before he could get out a full sentence she said, “My name is NA-TA-SHA, you prick, and you can walk home for all I care!” and hung up. 

As she returned her phone to her bag, she raised her head high and watched the sky, wondering if Steve was looking up right now too. She smiled at the thought and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. It was a strange sensation to believe that somehow, he was. She waved, just in case. 

One day, she knew, she would see him again. It was just a feeling she had. A good feeling. 

“Until then,” she told him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha! It's hard being human for her, too. But you know what? She's going to be okay. 
> 
> A few more Steve chapters coming your way! What's up with Sam? What's up with Steve? Find out next time!


	15. Only Human

Loki sat alone in the swanky uptown bar, a pristinely crafted cocktail in his hand. Thor had left him after they watched Steve nearly die trying to save his crewmate and the trickster god couldn’t understand why his brother was so irritable now. He watched Steve in his enchantment, a simmering rage building in his chest. His victory was all but assured before. Steve had been moments away from asking to be turned back into a dog, but now he was aboard a vessel and Thor was clearly soft for the creature. 

He downed his cocktail and eyed Steve’s sleeping form. He only needed a bit more convincing, perhaps. Or, barring that, he might just turn him back, claim his victory, and take Thor home. Loki closed his eyes and when he opened them, he was in Steve’s room. Silently, he glanced over at Steve’s bunkmate resting on his bed before he turned to Steve. He was curled up under a thick blanket, his face peeking out from under the covers as he slept. His blonde hair fell across his forehead, his expression innocent, vulnerable. Rage gripped Loki like a vice. How dare he, this stupid, dull creature. Why couldn’t he just give up and admit he was miserable? Loki’s lips twisted into a snarl as his anger consumed him. Slowly, he reached toward Steve, green sparks dancing between his fingers.

“Trickster.” The voice startled him and he whirled to face the other man. He had rolled over in his bed to face him. “Cheating again, I see.”

Loki grinned. There was a face he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. “Ah, if it isn’t my favourite sky god. Are you well, bright falcon? Humanity suiting you nicely?” 

Falcon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He slid out of bed, his hands curled into fists as he appraised Loki sharply. “Come here in the flesh and I’ll show you.” 

The trickster god laughed. “I see time has not taught you to check your temper. I thought grovelling as a human might humble you a bit.”

“You are a cheating thief,” Falcon accused.

“I won our wager,” Loki corrected. “I took your wings fairly.”

“Hah,” the bright falcon spat. “Fair? Is that why you’re here looming over Steve right now? Out of fairness?” Loki’s rage bubbled over, and his magic swirled dangerously, but the sky god just laughed. “I may not be much anymore, but I still have my eyes and I can see right through you, Jötunn. That man is under my protection and you will not meddle with him anymore.” 

Loki seethed. He was sounding like Thor. Fallen and downtrodden gods seemed eager to befriend him. For what reason? He was just a dog, a stupid, lowly thing. “You speak as though you love him,” Loki accused, a sneering smile on his face. 

“I do,” said the sky god. Despite his unfortunate form, Loki could see his former godliness in him. He stood a little taller, his eyes shining bright and piercing. It was enough to drive him back a half step and Loki laughed cruelly to disguise the bitter ache inside him. 

“Why?” he sneered. “He’s nothing.”

Falcon stepped closer and Loki narrowed his eyes, shrinking a little under the sky god’s sharp, bright gaze. “Then you _know_ nothing,” he said with a gentle smile. “And you’ll always know nothing.” 

Before Loki could respond, Falcon grasped the weak point of his magic and pulled it like a thread, undoing his enchantment. He blinked back into awareness, his empty glass still in hand. With a scowl, he stared at the countertop in bitter silence, alone once more. 

* * *

In the silence of the empty room, Sam shot a glance at Steve, who was still lying on his side facing away from him, apparently sleeping. Sam exhaled, his legs trembling. He hadn’t had to confront any gods in at least a millennia and had forgotten what it felt like. It was more intimidating than he remembered. 

“Sam?” Steve’s soft voice startled him. He glanced up at his friend, who remained facing the wall. 

“Did you hear all of that?” He asked. 

When Steve didn’t answer, Sam sighed and went over and sat on his bed. Steve curled up a little tighter, his expression heartbroken. 

“Why does he hate me so much?” he asked softly. “He made me like this, didn’t he? So why does he…” he trailed off, unable to finish the thought. 

Sam hesitantly reached out and smoothed Steve’s hair back. “Loki is cruel,” he said bitterly, “and he’s involved you in his cruel scheme. He thinks only of himself, Steve.”

It was intended to be a comfort, but Steve sobbed, unable to hold back his tears anymore. Guilt weighed heavy on Sam’s shoulders and he froze, his hand pausing on Steve’s shoulder. “I thought he was a friend,” Steve said. 

Sam swallowed hard and silently moved to lay down with him. When he did, Steve turned over and buried his head against his chest and Sam pulled him into a tight hug. It would be hard to know that his existence was nothing but a game to the trickster god, that he was despised by the very being who made him human in the first place. “I’m sorry,” he said, resting his chin on the top of Steve’s head. “You didn’t deserve that.” 

Steve just nodded and they lay in silence for a while. Sam knew how lonely it was to be human sometimes, how hard it was to live in a body that wasn’t his own. If he could give Steve even a measure of the kindness and peace that he had given him, then he would. He wasn’t much of a god anymore— he couldn’t fly or cast magic without his wings, but he could be there when his friend needed him. He could be present. Steve had taught him that. He held him a bit tighter, hoping that he could take solace in that, at least. 

Steve sighed and squeezed him gratefully in return. Eventually he collected himself enough to speak. “Did you mean what you said?” Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion and Steve pulled back to meet his eyes. “You said you loved me.” 

Sam smiled sheepishly. “I did,” he said. “and I meant it. You’re precious to me, Steve.” 

Steve beamed at him through his tears, his body wiggling a little before he wiped his eyes and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He lay in contemplative silence for a moment before he spoke. “I think I pity Loki,” he admitted. “He showed me love once, but I think it was… wrong somehow. It’s not how I feel about love at all...” he frowned. “I don’t know that he understands what it means.” 

Sam watched him for a beat, studying his face. “I think you’re right about that,” he said. Steve became a little troubled at the notion and Sam chuckled. It amazed him that Steve had the capacity for empathy and pity for a creature like Loki. He was far kinder than the trickster god deserved. 

Steve suddenly turned to face him again. “Hey, Sam?” He asked. 

“Yes, Steve?” 

“You know I love you, right?” 

Sam laughed and patted Steve’s chest, his whole body flooding with warmth. “Yes,” he said. “I think I did.” But it was nice to hear it all the same. 

Nestling a little closer, Steve paused. “Is that what it means to be human?” he asked. “I keep thinking that somehow I’m not doing it right. But I just… I think I love everyone. I love Natasha. I love her so much it hurts. But I love you, and Thor, and this ship, and these people and…” he trailed off, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “The world is so big, life is so strange and I think I’m just in love with it all.” He was quiet for a moment, a little frown on his face. “Is that selfish?” 

He had the biggest heart, the greatest capacity for love that Sam had ever seen. Maybe that had been his nature as a dog, but it served him well as a man too. “No, it’s not selfish,” he said. “And I’m no authority on what it means to be human, but I think you might be the best person I know.” 

Steve’s smile was gentle, grateful. His eyes shone with happy tears and a little chuckle bubbled from him. Relieved to see him happy, Sam crossed his arms and smiled in return. He was about to add something else when Steve reached over to gently clasp his cheek. He closed the distance between them to press a soft kiss on his forehead and Sam’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Thanks,” Steve said, pulling away to look at him. “Sam, thank you.” 

He couldn’t help his wide smile, his skin alive under Steve’s touch. What a happy creature. What a strange coincidence that their paths crossed. A delighted laugh burst from him and Steve grinned and wiggled so hard, the mattress shook. Maybe he understood what Steve meant a little. Life was strange and he was learning to love it, too. “Anytime,” he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are wondering, Sam is Horus, the Egyptian god with a falcon's head and wings haha. This story has lore now and I find that hilarious. 
> 
> More softness inbound next week! I think I can finally start wrapping this up soon. Thanks for reading!


	16. Bienvenu

“Ugh, Canada is so boring,” Tony whined as he watched the Nor’easter dump snow into the Halifax harbour from the safety of the cargo ship kitchen. They had been trapped for five and a half days now and Tony had gone stir crazy after the first forty minutes. 

“ _You’re_ boring,” Sam sniped back before he took a sip of his coffee. 

Tony looked a little offended by the comment and turned to Steve who was decidedly trying to stay out of this by making himself a cup of tea. “I’m not boring, right Steve? It’s Canada. Canada is the boring one.” 

In their downtime, Tony had taken to Steve like it was his personal mission to get him acquainted with the world. Mostly, Steve suspected, to help him alleviate his own boredom. The reason why didn’t really matter to Steve. Tony had given him lessons on math and finances, engineering, sports, and whatever he could think of. He knew he was curious before, but learning with his hands and by doing and experiencing was so much different. He was like a sponge and everyone had something to teach him. Dernier told him stories in French, Fury gave him knots to practice, Morita taught him how to cook some basics, Carter liked to crochet, Scott loaned him some primers for reading that he was bringing home to his daughter, and Sam was reading those books with him. The downtime meant Steve had time to learn and that was what he did. After his daily ship duties, he spent almost every waking hour studying and learning. 

Steve smiled politely as he always did and sipped his tea before he patted Tony on the shoulder in a conciliatory gesture. “We can’t all be interesting people, Tony.” 

Tony scoffed, pressing his hand to his heart like he had been fatally wounded. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me? I taught you everything, brought you in like my own son!” As he spoke, his performance bordered on melodrama and Sam snorted into his coffee, spraying it onto the table. Encouraged by the reaction, Tony grinned and amped it up another notch. “¿Por qué, Steven?!” he wailed, draping himself dramatically over the table. Steve laughed and applauded and Tony lifted his head with a smile. “That’s French, by the way.”

“That’s Spanish,” Steve corrected with a smile. “It’s 'Pourquoi'." 

“Hah, I should’ve known you were a Canada convert the moment you bought that beanie,” he said, pointing accusingly at Steve’s choice of headwear. 

Steve chuckled and adjusted his hat, brushing the embroidered little maple leaf on the cuff. This was the first purchase he had ever made with his own money on his own credit card. Tony had set it up for him, showed him how to use it, and even accompanied him to the store, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t hovering nervously while he bought it. Maybe it didn’t seem like much, but it was his. “This is a toque,” he said.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I knew it!” he said. “The Canadians have gotten to you! Turned you into one of their own! Those fiends. Captain Canada, they’ll call you. Or… Captain Canuck. Captain…” 

He paused, unable to come up with another Canada-related title and Steve just laughed, shrugged on his coat, and snapped the lid on his travel mug. “I’m going out,” he said, zipping up his jacket. “Do you guys want anything?”

Sam stood to join him and Tony immediately sat back and ran his hand through his hair. “Get me some of those doughnut holes.”

“Timbits?” 

“Whatever, Captain Canada.” 

Steve smiled and turned to Sam. “Lemme just get my wallet and we can go.” 

***

After Steve left, Tony turned to Sam, a smile on his face. “I’m so goddamn proud of him,” he said. 

Sam nodded, watching Steve head down the stairs to their room. “You’re a sentimental guy, Tony,” he teased. 

Tony scrunched up his face, embarrassed to be called out. “Oh shut up,” he said, waving away Sam's words. “You love him too.” 

He did, but that was beside the point. 

***

In the little gift shop in town, Steve carefully examined the letters on the coffee mug he held with a tiny frown. Sam came up behind him, finished pursuing the tacky souvenirs on display, and looked at the mug with a little smile.

“What’s that say?” he asked. 

Steve cocked his head and focused on the letters. “W… or… ld’s… o-k-a... okayest?” He looked over at Sam for confirmation and he nodded. Steve wiggled and continued. “D-a-d. ‘World’s okayest dad.’” 

Sam looked really proud of him and Steve blushed. “That’s right,” Sam said. Learning to read was maybe one of the more challenging things he had taken on, but everyone on the ship was so patient with him. Sam was his favourite teacher. He read lots every day, but reading before bed at night with Sam was his favourite. 

“I want to get it,” Steve said, eyeing the mug affectionately. 

Sam laughed. “Why?” 

Steve gave him a sly smile. “I’m going to give it to Tony.” 

***

To say Tony loved his gift was an understatement. He became a little misty-eyed upon receiving it along with his requested Timbits and retreated to his office after a quiet, choked out, “Thanks, Steve.” 

***

By the end of the week, the storm had subsided and they were able to secure their cargo load. Sunday had been the hardest. It was cold and wet and he’d worked all day on deck preparing for departure. By late afternoon he stumbled cold, weary, and bone-tired to the shower. 

He’d been standing under the hot stream of water for longer than he knew was considerate, but nobody had come in to complain yet. Even so, he made himself shut off the water and vigorously shook the water from his hair before he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. 

In the fogged glass, Steve caught sight of his reflection and frowned, not really recognizing the man staring back at him. His hair was still wet from the shower. It was getting long— longer than he’d ever had it. His body was muscled and lean, bruised in places from all the hard labour. It showed the most in his hands, which were calloused and strong. Hair was appearing on his chest and face as well, a shade darker than his normal hair colour. 

Steve blinked. That hadn’t been a thing before— hair on his face. What had changed? Part of him was scared it was fur, and that he was becoming a dog again. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face, feeling it rasp against his palm. The other part of him knew that this wasn’t a dog thing. Other crew members had facial hair, after all, so it was definitely a human thing. 

Steve leaned forward, meeting his mismatched eyes in the mirror. 

Those eyes seemed different, somehow. _He_ seemed different. He felt different, too. Less awkward, less naive and vulnerable. The man looking back at him was brave, kind, smart, and strong. He was whole. He smiled and watched the crows feet appear at the edges of his eyes. 

“Hi Steve,” he said to himself. 

***

Soon enough they were back on course, heading for another country Steve had never heard of. Their shipment had survived the stormy seas and they could make their delivery, albeit a bit delayed. He was on night watch that week. 

Steve decided that favourite place in the world was the ship’s watchtower at night. The stars were more than he had ever seen before, a brilliant swirl of light in the darkness. He wondered if Natasha was looking at the sky, too. It made him miss her more than anything, being alone in the night. But there was a kind of peace in it. He felt small, in such a big, big world, but he was still here— free and happy and _alive._

Looking out at the stars, rocked by the waves Steve imagined what he’d say when he saw Natasha again. He could tell her about himself, about the things he had seen and done. He could tell her he had missed her, that he was sorry he left without saying goodbye. He didn’t know if she’d want him to stay, but he didn’t want her to have to feel obligated to take care of him either. He refused to be a burden anymore and for the first time, he felt like he wasn’t. He imagined meeting her again, imagined dancing with her. Watching the stars made him hopeful that one day, he would. “I love you,” he told the night sky. “I miss you.” 

It was hard, he was scared, but he was beginning to feel like he could find his footing. He was making his way on his own, discovering a small part of a big beautiful world that he could call his own. Steve couldn’t help his smile or his heart racing. The wind was cold and it made him breathless, but he laughed and laughed under the blanket of stars. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve! He's making it. 
> 
> I know I keep saying it, but this story is wrapping up soon! Not sure how many chapters left though lol.


	17. Homeward Bound

When Steve was back on solid ground, he sighed in relief. It had been rough seas the past few deliveries and he was starting to feel a bit green. He shrugged his coat a little closer to combat the cold and headed straight for town. His mission was tea and doughnuts if he could find them. He was pretty sure they had tea and doughnuts in this country. 

He rubbed his hands together and blew into them, his eyes watering against the cold. As he tugged his toque down a little further, he heard a cry that made him freeze in place.

_ Help! _

Steve snapped around, looking for the source of the call. Nobody else seemed to have heard it.

_ Help!  _

He frowned and jogged toward the cries for help, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard the call again and ran a little faster, following the sound into an alleyway.

_ Help me! _

“Hello?” he called, passing back doors of businesses, dumpsters, and shuttered garages. Unease pricked his palms. Maybe he should’ve gone out with Sam, or Carter. “I… I heard someone asking for help?” 

It sounded stupid, talking to nothing like that, but he heard a shuffle and then,  _ Here! Here! Here! Please! _

A thrill of dread shot through him and Steve sprinted to the end of the alley and turned a corner before he skidded to an abrupt halt. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t… this. He blinked, staring down at the little border collie standing alone and forlorn in the alley. As soon as he had appeared, it wagged its tail. 

“Uh…” he said, narrowing his eyes. 

The dog barked, but it came out as,  _ Finally!  _

Steve drew a little breath and then laughed in disbelief. “Huh,” he said. “Okay.” 

* * *

  
  


Natasha packed up the boxes in her room, taping them shut and then stacking them high in precarious towers. She sighed and rubbed her nose with a little smile. She’d be completely moved out of Clint’s place by the end of the day and it felt pretty good. 

In the seven months since she had last seen Steve, she’d figured out a lot. She had a steady job that made her happy, paid back everything she had owed Clint despite his protestations, and now she finally had a place of her own again that was closer to the dance academy. It was closed for winter break now and that gave her a chance to finalize her move. 

It felt really, really good. Natasha smiled and surveyed the last of her things. An open box caught her eye and she held out the tape gun like a weapon and narrowed her eyes. “Prepare to meet your end,” she said dangerously. 

The box sat unmoving, though she imagined it was only because it was frozen in terror. She crossed the room in a graceful leap and opened the box with an enthusiastic, “Aha!” 

It was full of Steve’s things. 

Slowly, she lowered the tape gun and surveyed the box of clothes, an empty pit welling up in her heart. What was he doing now? Did he miss her? She closed her eyes to try and stop the painful feeling in her chest. It was stupid, selfish. Seven months without a word from him. Maybe he’d never come back. Maybe he never wanted to see her again. She exhaled, trying to push down the awful sadness that lingered within her. She thought that time and distance would lessen how she felt, but it only seemed to get more painful. She was happy, but she still missed Steve. 

She sighed and wiped the tears from her eyes before she packed up the box and taped it shut. Collecting herself a bit, she carried some of her things out into the living room where Clint was watching TV on his favourite frumpy couch. He hunched over to pet Lucky before he shot her a little glance and smiled. 

“That the last of it?” he asked. 

“Sure is,” she said, setting the box down. Clint smiled and she brushed off her shirt and flopped down next to him with a contented sigh. “What’re we watching?” 

“The news,” he said with a groan. “They’re interviewing that viral video guy in Sweden who claims he can talk to dogs. Followed a dog straight to a little old lady and carried her all the way to the hospital like some kind of prince.” 

Natasha laughed. “You watch viral videos on the news? What are you, old?” 

Clint looked positively wounded at the suggestion and Natasha smirked. “I’m not old, Natasha, you fetus. I just don’t…” he waved his hands, “social media.” 

She laughed and wiggled her fingers in return. “Oooooh yes, social media.” 

When he frowned deeply, she laughed harder. “You haven’t seen it either.” 

He had a point there. “True,” she said. “Though my excuse is that I’m busy moving.”

Clint stuck out his tongue and she brought her feet up and aggressively dug her dancer toes into his thigh. He howled, causing Lucky to howl, and then reached over and grabbed a pillow to swat her with. Natasha laughed and covered her head with her arms. He stopped suddenly and she peeked at him from under her arm as he stared at the TV with a frown. 

“Hey isn’t that your…” Clint trailed off uneasily, shooting her a glance as he mentally recalculated and found a better word. “...friend?” 

Natasha glanced at the TV and sat up in surprise. It was Steve. He looked different, rougher, and more seasoned. He had a beard, his shaggy hair poked out from beneath his hat. He looked straight into the camera, straight at her. She was frozen, staring into his mismatched eyes.

“Do you have anyone you want to say hi to?” the reporter asked. 

“Natasha,” he said with a little smile on his face. Hearing his voice speaking her name made her cheeks flush with heat. She had forgotten how it sounded. On the TV screen, Steve got a bit teary-eyed and laughed. 

“Someone special?” the reporter prompted gently. 

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I… I think about her every day. I miss her every day.”

Tears sprang to Natasha’s eyes and she leaned forward to watch him. 

“Maybe she waits for you back home.” 

He laughed again. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sometimes I think she’s better off without me. I just… I hope she’s happy. ” He swallowed hard and smiled charmingly. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to hijack your interview. What were you saying?”

She paused, watching him and her eyes filled with tears. Immediately she unlocked her phone and opened the pet tracker app. It was immoral, she knew, but she had to know. Once she swiped away the stupid home screen and offers for updates, she tapped his serial number. His icon had moved. Clint was wrong, it wasn’t Sweden. He was in Norway. “Well I’ll be damned,” she said. 

She stood abruptly as the news story cut back to the studio and she sat in silence, ruminating on his words. He missed her. He thought about her. 

She frowned and swallowed hard, gripping her phone tightly. He thought she didn’t want to see him, that she was better off without him. She glanced down at her phone again, tracing the silly little dog icon blinking over Oslo.  _ Rate us? _ The app begged. Natasha smiled and tapped ‘okay’, giving them five stars.  _ Works great! _ she wrote.  _ All the way across the Atlantic, kind of great. _ She then locked her phone and ran to her room and began tearing open boxes in a frantic search. 

“Tasha, what the hell?” Clint exclaimed, watching her tear apart her room. Natasha ignored him to dig through a huge box marked ‘Idk Stuff’ until she triumphantly withdrew her passport and held it up like it was Excalibur. Clint frowned. “Yeah, so that still doesn’t explain—” 

“I’m going to find him,” she declared. 

“Wait— what?” Clint followed her around the room as she gathered a bag and items. “How?” he ducked when she tossed an item from a box onto her bed. “Sweden is a big city, Natasha. How are you going to find him?” 

She dug through the box with a fiery determination. Maybe it wouldn’t amount to anything, but she wasn’t going to let him continue thinking she didn’t want him. She loved him, dammit! Enough of this self-pity! 

“Sweden is a country, Clint,” she corrected. “He’s in Oslo, Norway.” She shot him a glance, taking in his confused, sour expression with a wolfish grin, and explained, “I have him chipped.” 

Clint’s eyes widened. “Ohhhh my God?" 

* * *

In a skeevy dive bar in Oslo, Norway, Steve was nursing a ginger ale. Tony made him try champagne, but it made him sneeze violently in rapid succession so many times that he thought he was going to die. He stared at the fizzy drink in front of him, watching the bubbles rise and pop. His crewmates were drunk and out somewhere else, but he liked this quiet hole in the wall bar. It was New Year’s Eve, and everyone kept trying to get him to see the importance of the celebration, but it held a different meaning for him. 

A year ago today, he met Loki. The wager was struck and here he was. New year, new him indeed. He rested his cheek in his hand and sighed. Despite everything, he was glad. He’d grown so much, learned so much. He hadn’t wiggled in a long time or done anything weird beyond talking to a dog since they docked, but everyone had their quirks. Understanding dogs could be his, he supposed. It wasn’t like he had to totally forget who he used to be, but he was proud of himself for who he had become. Steve frowned and took a sip of ginger ale. 

Objectively, he knew he was glad. But tonight he was lonelier, sadder than he thought he’d be. It was like a piece of him was still missing. But he was scared to go back. What if Natasha hated him for leaving? What if she had forgotten about him? Or, what if she didn’t like who he was now? 

That was her right, but the open-endedness of it all filled him with fear. He couldn’t take not knowing, but he didn’t want to know at the same time. He smiled bitterly at the paradox. This was part of the life he had chosen, he knew. Swirling his drink, Steve rehearsed what he might say to her when he saw her again. He’d open with a joke, maybe, or something smart. Something to prove to her from the get-go that he was a better man now. The kind of man she deserved. 

A blast of cold air heralded the arrival of another patron. The bar was relatively empty and Steve followed the bartender’s gaze behind him. The last person he ever expected to see come through the doors of the pub was  _ her _ . He froze, staring at Natasha from the bar, eyes fixed on her face as she scanned the room. She looked determined, frantic, her eyes bright, red hair frosty where it poked out from under her toque. Her cheeks and nose were flushed red with the cold. When she spotted him, it was like time stood still. His breath left him in a rush. 

Without thinking, he was on his feet and she raced to meet him, and just like that she was in his arms. He held her like he’d never let her go. Her scent filled his mouth, his nose, so familiar that tears pricked his eyes. He burrowed against her, breathing her in. 

She wrapped her arms so tightly around him. “Steve,” she said.

Her voice made him forget his words, forget all the things he wanted to say to her. Instead, he wiggled and licked her neck a little, his hands balling the fabric of her jacket. She laughed and he pulled away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes with a sheepish chuckle. 

“You left without saying goodbye,” she said, gripping his jacket tightly. “I was worried.” 

Steve nodded, he had so much to tell her, so much to share. “Natasha, I’m sorry,” he said, breathless. Words began pouring out of him in a nearly unintelligible stream. “I realized I wasn’t a person, not really. That I was making it hard for you, that I wasn’t a man, that I couldn’t support myself or… or you. I wanted to prove that I could.”

Her fingers were cradling the nape of his neck, toying with the ends of his shaggy hair. He shivered, meeting her eyes to find them full of warmth, adoration. “I missed you,” she said. 

A little breath escaped him to hear it.  _ I miss you too, _ he wanted to say, but it came out as, “I love you.”

She paused, looking at him with wide eyes and immediately he flushed a deep, deep red. He was bungling this, he knew. But Natasha beamed at him and cupped his face in her hands. “You know, it’s funny,” she said. “I came all this way here to tell you that I love you too.” 

He was overwhelmed, wiggling, flushing. Maybe he wasn’t so different, after all. “You did?” he asked. 

When she chuckled, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest and instead of letting her answer, he leaned down and kissed her right there. 

Natasha gripped his face and kissed him back, her lips soft, searching under his. She tasted like cherry chapstick. He pulled her closer, his head swimming, his body tingling with a strange, uncontainable warmth. It was as if the missing piece of his heart returned and now he was whole again. A soft noise came from his throat, somewhere between a whine and a whimper as he let that feeling consume him. She was here. She was really here. His arms circled around her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace as he kissed her deeply. Natasha smiled and tilted her head a little, her lips pressed to his, gentle, warm. She broke away and he buried his nose into her hair again, her breath warm on his cheek. 

She was holding him tightly, her toes barely touching the ground. “So, that was…” 

Steve touched his forehead to hers, his eyes closed for a moment. “A long time coming.” 

She laughed and he couldn’t help but smile. He started wiggling again, and she leaned against him. “Do you… want to come back home with me?” she asked.

Steve nodded, his eyes welling with tears. More than anything, he wanted that. “It’s a date,” he said.

Natasha’s beaming smile nearly made him burst with happiness. She leaned into him, neither of them willing to be the first to let go. Steve didn’t want it any other way. Somewhere behind him, the countdown to the new year began, and for the first time, he was looking forward to the celebration. He was a person, a bit strange, but a person nonetheless and everything he wanted was here in his arms. As the countdown reached zero, Natasha went up on her tiptoes to press another kiss on his lips. 

“Happy New Year,” she told him. 

But he didn’t answer. He let his eyes fall closed and kissed her again and again and again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems like the end, it kind of is. 
> 
> The next chapter is like an epilogue of sorts wherein some loose ends are tied. Second to last chapter babeyyyy! Thanks for joining me on this weird adventure.


	18. The End

Loki seethed, a terrible simmering resentment built inside him as he watched Steve and Natasha kiss in his enchantment. It was the new year and he had lost his wager. He whirled and stalked off, planning on how best to avoid Thor for possibly the rest of his life. 

* * *

In the month since their return, Natasha was blissfully happy. Steve moved in with her and found a job at the pet shelter she had adopted him from. Steve the receptionist had quit not long after their botched date, and Steve her boyfriend had taken up the position as the new Steve the receptionist and also her boyfriend. He was amazing at the job, and particularly good with the dogs in the shelter, who all told him he gave the best ear scratches. 

She smiled and sipped her coffee at the breakfast table as she got ready to leave for work. They were taking things slow, and that was perfect. Steve emerged from the bedroom, pulling a shirt on over his head as he walked into the room. She caught a glimpse of his bare chest and abdomen and Natasha whistled at him, waggling her eyebrows. “Mee-ow,” she said. 

Steve grinned and came over to kiss her good morning. “You’re up early,” she said, looking up at him. He kissed her again and she smiled. “I thought you had the day off.” 

“Sam said the crew would be back this weekend,” he murmured before pressing another kiss on her lips. “I was too excited to sleep in.” She laughed and he kissed her forehead instead. “And maybe I wanted some kisses before you left for work.” 

He pulled away with a cheeky smile and she swatted at him and took a bite of her bagel. “Do you want to invite everyone for dinner?” she said with a mouthful of carbs. “That could be fun.” 

Steve nodded and switched on the kettle to make himself some tea. “I can put the word out,” he said before sitting down at the table with her. He seemed thoughtful for a moment and Natasha put down her bagel and nudged him with her knee. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked. 

“There’s a few others I’d like to invite,” he said. 

* * *

In the skeevy dive bar back in New York, Thor waited. He didn’t know what became of Steve, but since it was at least a month after New Year’s Day and his brother hadn’t shown up, he assumed he had won their wager. It hardly mattered anymore, he supposed. He looked around at the peeling wallpaper and dirty carpets of the rundown establishment. This was his prize for meddling. Though he had discovered why he appreciated humanity, he hardly felt like a part of it anymore. He sighed and fixed his gaze on his beer, swirling it pensively. This certainly didn’t feel like a victory.

The door flung open, but Thor only sipped his beer in silence. “Thor?” a timid voice asked. He turned blearily to find Steve, standing in the entryway with a tiny smile. The thunder god was speechless. He whirled, stumbling out of his seat to pick up the other man in a massive bear hug. 

“Odin’s beard,” he exclaimed, hoisting Steve off his feet and burying his forehead into his shoulder. “I didn’t know what had become of you. I assumed you were alright, but…” 

Steve laughed and gently headbutted Thor, unable to hug him back with his arms pinned in the thunder god’s iron grasp. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you for a while, actually. There are so many bars in New York.” 

“Aye,” Thor agreed, setting Steve down again. “I’m glad you took the trouble to find me.” He squinted, his hands on Steve’s shoulders as he appraised him. “Why?” 

“I wanted to invite you to dinner,” he said. 

* * *

Loki wasn’t interested in watching Steve anymore. If he had it his way, he’d never want to see the dull creature again. Instead, he focused his attentions on his brother, keeping watch over him in the time he had abandoned him. He was sufficiently miserable, last he had checked. Maybe he would tire of Midgard soon and they could reconcile back home. 

He conjured his enchantment, and was shocked and horrified to find that Thor was currently having dinner with the mutt he had wagered on. Anger burned through him, making his vision swirl with dangerous magic. The sight of Thor mingling with such peons revolted him. What did these lowly creatures have that he didn’t? He understood them better than most— they were jealous, self-absorbed, ruinous, destructive beings. He had proven that time and time again. He’d taken so-called good men and women and exposed them for what they really were, he’d toppled kingdoms, destroyed families and friendships with single words. He’d been so certain he would win, and he lost because of a dog?

It was easy to conjure himself into the hallway to the room, staying hidden from the throng of friends Steve and Natasha had seemingly amassed in the short year he had been watching them. He flexed his fingers, thinking of what sorts of spells he would conjure to spite them. Perhaps he’d turn Steve back into a dog, or disappear his friends across nine realms. 

He jumped when someone grasped his shoulder and whirled around to face Steve coming out of the bedroom. 

“Hi,” he said. 

Loki blinked, his face twisting into a sneer. “What do you want, mutt? Come to gloat? What more can you take from me?” 

Steve frowned at the notion. “Nothing, I’m sure,” he said. “But, I did want to thank you.” 

His facade slipped a little. “Why?” 

“For giving me the chance to be a person.” 

Loki snarled. “Maybe I’ll take it back,” he said. “Maybe I’ll make you a dog again.”

Steve cocked his head as he appraised him, his mismatched eyes kind and discerning. “I know why you’re doing this,” he said. Loki was about to protest, or maybe kill him, he wasn’t sure. What could he possibly know? “You’re jealous.” Loki opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. It was true. He was right. And he hated that Steve could see through him like this. When he didn’t respond, Steve exhaled with a little huff and gave him a friendly smile. “Why don’t you join us for dinner?” he asked. 

The god of mischief scoffed, his eyes stinging with tears. “As if I’d want to spend time with  _ you _ ,” he spat. Steve looked hurt and a tiny burst of triumph shot through him. Loki leaned in, going almost nose to nose with him as he reveled in the suffering he could still inflict. “Fool, mutt, worthless…” 

Steve met his eyes and reached up to cup his face. His hands were broad, warm and Loki faltered. “That’s enough,” he said gently. 

How could it be that Steve was getting to him like this? Loki seethed, about to tell him off when the bathroom door opened behind him and he was nudged forward and got a kiss on the lips instead. Loki was no stranger to physical intimacy. He’d had partners of all kinds over the years, so many that he lost count, but this was… different, gentler. He could feel the affection, the kindness radiating from the other man. It was the briefest of flashes, the tiniest of notions, but Loki had never felt anything like it. Steve smiled against his lips, finding their accidental kiss amusing and Loki’s brain struggled to comprehend what that did to him. His brow furrowed as he sat frozen under Steve’s devastating gentleness. He was forgiven. Even after everything he had done, Steve forgave him. He hadn’t realized he had leaned into him until Steve pulled away with a laugh. 

“As nice as this is,” he said, touching his fingers to the mischief god’s lips, “I have someone else I love.”

Loki sputtered, utterly humiliated. “I wasn’t— I don’t want—”

“Love?” Loki was silent and Steve cocked his head and looked at him. His eyes were crinkled with amusement, his expression gentle and the tricker god blushed. “The offer still stands,” he said, patting him on the shoulder. “I made scallop potatoes.” 

Behind them, the person who was trying to leave the bathroom squinted. “Okay so… What?”

Steve laughed and clapped him on the arm. “Clint,” he said, “this is Loki. He’ll be joining us for dinner.” 

* * *

“Steve,” Natasha said, exasperated as she craned her neck to look at the trickster god standing vacantly blushing next to his brother, who laughed and pulled him into a headlock. “you’ve got to stop kissing all the Norse gods. Do you know how many are in that pantheon? It’s a lot. Like a lot, a lot.” 

He smiled sheepishly and leaned down to kiss her. “It just keeps happening,” he said before kissing her again. “I don’t know what it is.” 

“Is there anyone in this room you haven’t kissed?” she teased.

Steve glanced around the room. The guests were so far Tony and Sam, Thor, Fury, Clint, and now Loki. “Do we count Clint?" he asked. "I only licked him.” 

Natasha smiled. “I think that counts. He said you got his mouth pretty good.” 

Steve cocked his head and weighed his options. “Well since the deckhands haven’t shown up yet that leaves Tony,” he said, “and Fury.” He winced at the thought of kissing the scariest man alive. She burst into laughter and he pulled her closer with a chuckle. “Though it’s only six-thirty, so there’s time yet.” 

She hooked her arms around his neck, an impish smile on her face. “If you kiss Fury, I will give you $300.” 

He touched his forehead to hers and looked into her beautiful green eyes, his hands settling on her waist. “Is that a wager?” he asked mischievously. 

“You’re not funny!” she said, moving to smack him on the shoulder. 

“Aw come on,” he said as he leaned in and stole a kiss. Natasha sighed, her fingers running through his hair as she pulled him closer. He broke away with a smile. "I'm a little funny." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! I snuck in one last rarepair for the road. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this very strange foray into entirely self-indulgent comedy. I hope you enjoyed it and found it as funny as I did while I was writing it. 
> 
> Stay happy and healthy!


End file.
